


Old Man Luke

by scarletjedi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Leia Organa, Family Drama, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:56:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8825689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" He asked, hoping a direct question would yield answers. The old man seemed adept at side-stepping information when asked a bit more deftly. “I’ve never heard of a Master with your level of talent.” 
      The old man seemed surprised. “If you’ve never heard of one like me, then what good would my name be? You wouldn’t know it.”    Obi-Wan felt a flare of irritation, and quickly squashed it. The old man blinked, as if he hadn’t expected to feel that, and he smiled, sadly. “My name is Luke,” he said, as if a peace offering.   The force trilled in his ear, and Obi-Wan frowned. "Luke what?" He asked, and the old man, this Luke, smiled wryly.    "Luke Skywalker.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You want more of me? Want to see my ramblings, fan works, and sneak peaks? Or is a story you love not updated when you expect it to be? Check out my [tumblr](scarletjedi.tumblr.com) for status updates and more!
> 
> Update: this fic was started before The Last Jedi And is TLJ noncompliant. It does, however, borrow certain elements of the canon (that Luke went to Ahch-To after the fall of his academy) while ignoring the rest of it (...the rest of the movie). The events of this fic, and the characterization of the characters, prevents TLJ from taking place.

Obi-Wan was--well, he wouldn't say _fond_ \--there was little to be fond about in war--but he found he preferred refugee evacuations, successful ones, to battles. It was something like a balm to the soul to save lives rather than watch them perish. Bittersweet, of course, because so many people had their lives torn apart by war, but they _had_ their lives.

Perhaps that was why Obi-Wan was on the ground, overseeing the evacuation in person rather than keeping abreast from the bridge. Force knew he certainly had enough paperwork to do--Cody would find some way to make him regret it if he made Cody handle it all himself _again_ \--when he felt it. A disturbance in the Force.

Head snapping up, Obi-Wan searched the crowd of refugees. It had been very brief, a flash of Light presence as strong as Anakin, if not stronger--but it was gone now. His eyes lit on face after face--a blue-skinned Twi'lek boy tugged along behind his parents, clutching a small, soft blanket; a bearded old man wearing a hooded cloak, keeping it wrapped closely around himself against the chill, the fingers of his cybernetic hand just visible; a trio of Rodians that clutched at each other as they stumbled along. Obi-Wan shook his head. Whatever he had felt, it was gone now. 

Anakin walked up, standing at Obi-Wan's left shoulder with his hands braces on his hips. "We're ahead of schedule. For once. Looks like we'll get out of here well before the Sepratists can send their reinforcements."

Obi-Wan felt a shiver settle at the back of his neck, and he sighed even as his eyes drifted over the crowd once more, his eye drawn back to the old man, though he couldn't say why. There was something about how he moved that _screamed_ ‘don't notice me’. "I certainly hope so, Anakin, and that you haven't just jinxed--

The Force flashed a warning, and Obi-Wan spun, saber at the ready as one of the supply tankers blew, the fireball deafening and sending the refugees into a screaming panic. It was chaos in moments as the formerly orderly march became a frantic shove, the people's screams blending with the whining of fighter engines.

"Sithspit," Anakin swore. 

"Go," Obi-Wan ordered, and Anakin leapt into the fray. Obi-Wan turned to the trooper next to him, Fives, he thought. "Our priority is the refugees," he yelled. "We need to get them on board."

"Sir!" Fives echoed, and called over more to lay down cover fire even as Obi-Wan did his best to deflect what he could. A canon bolt slipped through, there were simply too many, and the ground behind him exploded, scattering the refugees. More troopers poured from the ship, helping to pick everyone up and get them on board, but the chaos was too great and some refugees began to run from the ship in their confusion, disoriented from the sound and the smoke. 

When it happened, the world slowed around Obi-Wan as he saw it all play out--

\--the droid fighter, careening and billowing smoke--

\--the Twi'lek boy, frozen in its path--

Obi-Wan began to run, but he was too slow, he wouldn't make it and--

\--the old man, cloak snapping in the wind and hood blown back from his face, appeared suddenly in front of the boy, hands raised in a gesture that was intimately familiar, and the fighter shuddered, slowed, and glided gracefully over everyone's heads to set down on the far side of the charred remains of the tanker as gently as an initiate playing push-feather in the crèche. For a brief moment, Obi-Wan felt that brilliant presence blazing like binary suns. Obi-Wan watched as the old man crouched before the boy and saw a warm smile crease his eyes as he spoke to the boy. The boy nodded, and the old man lifted him with ease, ticking him on his hip as if he was used to carrying a young humanoid of toddling age. Unable to hold his cloak closed, it fluttered around him, revealing an outfit of all black, the details lost to smoke, and a distinctive glint at the old man's waist--a lightsaber.

The Force screamed in. His attention snapped back to the battle, and his time was lost to the constant rush of defense. Some time later, the firing slowed and then stopped, and Anakin ran from the smoke, a group of troopers on his six. He waved at them to take off. 

"That's the last of them!" he called out, and Obi-Wan nodded. They backed towards the ship as the troopers ran up the ramp, jumping up together even as it began to close, and then they were away. 

It must have been a local attack, a pocket group that had survived because there was no resistance waiting for them in the skies above the planet, and they were in hyperspace before Obi-Wan and Anakin had made their way to the bridge. 

Obi-Wan's crew were very efficient, and he had his status report within minutes. 

"Anakin," he said, and jerked his head towards the door, tapping his datapad against his hand. Anakin frowned, but followed. 

"Obi-Wan? What's wrong?" 

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. "Did you feel it, back on the planet? That presence?" 

Anakin frowned, shaking his head, and then paused. "Wait, yeah, now that you mention it. Just a flash, but it was strong." He raised his eyebrows. "Do you know what it was?" 

"More than that," Obi-Wan said. "I know who it was--or rather, I know which refugee it was. His identity is rather a mystery." 

A sly smile began to curl around the edges of Anakin mouth. "A mystery, huh?" 

Obi-Wan felt his own lips curl upward in response. "Indeed. Shall we get to the bottom of this one?" 

"After you, Master," Anakin said, and Obi-Wan felt a wave of warm affection for his former Padawan--his best friend and brother. For all their reputation as a dream team, they hadn't actually fought together much in this war--it made too little sense to keep them together when they could do so much apart. It was nice to have him near, for once. 

Fives and another clone from the 501st were standing guard on the bay where they had housed the refugees for processing before they were moved into more comfortable quarters. They were to be in space for nearly two weeks, after all. There was no reason to keep them all in the hold like cattle. 

"Fives," Obi-Wan said in greeting and Fives snapped to attention. 

"General!" 

"There is a man in there, an older man with grey hair and beard, and a metal hand. He was carrying a young Twi'lek boy when they boarded, but I'm not sure if they'd still be together. I need you to bring that man to us in interrogation room Three." 

Obi-Wan could feel the question burning behind Five's stern expression, but Five hadn't certified ARC for nothing, and he left to complete his task with nothing more than a crisp "sir." 

"Interrogation?" Anakin said. "Isn't that a little harsh?" 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "I saw this man stop and redirect a crashing fighter with the same ease that Master Yoda would lift a flower blossom. I'm not taking any chances until we know exactly who, or what, we're dealing with." 

Anakin's shock was clear on his face. "That easy?" He frowned. "I didn't sense any darkness in that presence, but I didn't feel it for long." 

"Neither did I," Obi-Wan said. "Which is the other thing." He gestured with the datapad still in his hand, and he and Anakin began to walk to interrogation. "He's shielded his presence completely, and yet did not appear as a void in the Force. We're dealing with someone very well trained, and in this war the fact that he is a stranger is...troubling." 

Anakin's brow remained furrowed. "Do you think he was a Sith? A plant or a ploy?"

"I don't know, Anakin. I don't know." 

Fives was standing guard outside Interrogation Three, which meant the old man was alone inside. Obi-Wan turned to Anakin. "Why don't you step into the observation room. He may reveal something he wouldn't normally with only myself in the room." 

Anakin set his jaw. "If he's as dangerous as we think he could be, you’ll need backup." 

Obi-Wan shook his head, holding up his hand to stall any further complaints. "Fives is just outside the door, and you'll be able to see everything. If things truly go south," Obi-Wan shrugged, "go through the glass." 

Anakin made a face, showing just what he thought of that. Funny how this was the same Padawan who would jump from a moving hover car would be so against going through a window in an emergency. Still, he turned and entered the observation room, and Obi-Wan palmed his entry to the interrogation room. 

The old man had clearly been meditating as he waited, the air in the room was filled with a deep peace Obi-Wan usually only felt in the room of a Thousand Fountains. Yet, when the door opened, the man opened his eyes and watched Obi-Wan enter with open interest. Still, Obi-Wan felt no maliciousness coming from the man, even though his eyes never strayed, barely blinked, as he watched Obi-Wan cross the room and take the seat across the table. 

"Well," Obi-Wan said, his manner open and pleasant. He smiled. "I want to start by thanking you for what you did. You saved that boy's life." 

The old man blinked, and Obi-Wan noticed that his eyes were very blue, pale like a desert sky, and unfathomably sad. 

"Appreciated," the man said, and Obi-Wan was surprised to hear an Outer Rim accent, even one distorted by a voice rough from disuse. The man cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice was a clearer tenor. "Though I don't need thanks for doing what anyone would have done."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Redirecting a crashing ship to save a little boy?" 

The old man smiled slightly, just the one corner of his mouth. "Caught." 

For a moment, Obi-Wan thought the man meant that Obi-Wan had caught him out, but…Obi-Wan tilted his head. "Excuse me?

"I didn't redirect the ship," the old man said. "I caught the ship, and then put it down." He shrugged. "It probably would have been easier to redirect the ship, but instincts--heat of the moment. I just…did.” The old man shrugged, a wry smile apparent in the twist of his beard. "You know how it is." 

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, blinking. He had caught the ship? Through their bond, Obi-Wan could feel Anakin's surprise--and doubt. Obi-Wan wasn't sure even Yoda would have be able to accomplish such a feat. Anakin had the power, certainly, but not the focus. 

This man carried a lightsaber, ostensibly as one of their Order. Who was he that he had such strength and yet was unknown to the Council and to Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" He asked, hoping a direct question would yield answers. The old man seemed adept at sidestepping information when asked a bit more deftly. “I’ve never heard of a Master with your level of talent.” 

The old man seemed surprised. “If you’ve never heard of one like me, then what good would my name be? You wouldn’t know it.” 

Obi-Wan felt a flare of irritation, and quickly squashed it. The old man blinked, as if he hadn’t expected to feel that, and he smiled, sadly. “My name is Luke,” he said, as if a peace offering.

The force trilled in his ear, and Obi-Wan frowned. "Luke what?" He asked, and the old man, this Luke, smiled wryly. 

"Luke Skywalker.”

Anakin’s reaction was strong enough that both Obi-Wan and Luke looked towards the opaque window that hid the observation room. 

"Where do you come from, Master Skywalker?” Obi-Wan asked. “Who trained you?" 

Luke raised his eyebrows, and Obi-Wan could feel the amusement bumping against his senses, along with a deep well of bitter sadness. “I am from Tatooine originally, my first teacher's name was Ben.” 

I am here because the Force willed that I be here," Luke said. "I do not know how I came to be here, only that I was sent here for a reason." He sighed, a resigned humor shining on his face. “At least, there had better be a reason.” He turned towards the door as Anakin burst in. 

“I’m the only Skywalker in the Order,” Anakin said, his presence blazing. “I know it. I looked!” 

Luke spread his hands. “I’m not in the Order,” he said. “Never have been.” 

Anakin licked his lips, chewing his bottom lip as he thought. “You’re from Tatooine,” he said at last, slowly. “Did you know a Shmi Skywalker?” 

The sadness that lingered around Luke’s eyes deepened. “I never had the opportunity,” he said, and it sounded as if he deeply regretted it. “I”m sorry. Everyone said she was such a lovely woman.” 

“She was my mom,” Anakin said, his voice nearly cracking, and he sat down hard on one of the chairs, leaning forward and resting his forehead on his crossed forearms. Obi-Wan lifted his hand, as if to settle it on his back, hesitated, then pulled it back. Not in front of the mysterious man in front of them. 

“You said you’re not part of the Order,” Obi-Wan said. “Yet you carry a lightsaber.” 

Luke nodded. “I can use it, too,” he said, and he smiled, quick and boyish, and Obi-Wan saw a familiar flash in that smile, someone he knew, but it was gone too quickly. “But I’m assuming that’s not why you bring it up.” 

“Only Jedi can legally carry lightsabers,” Anakin said into the table, and Luke looked down at him for a moment. Then, without a word, he simply unhooked his saber and handed it to Obi-Wan hilt first. 

Obi-Wan took it, nonplussed. To simply hand over his weapon—a Jedi’s saber was his life! But then Obi-Wan felt the Force resonating through the weapon, and he looked down at it in surprise. 

It was a simple design—fairly rudimentary in fact, for all that it had obviously seen many years of hard use. Anakin had built better sabers as a Padawan, when he was replacing his saber every year or so due to how fast he grew. Yet it was solid in a way that echoed back through history. 

Obi-Wan placed his hand on Anakin’s forearm, and Anakin drew himself upright, at last. He held out the lightsaber, and Anakin took it, frowning the instant it touched his palm. “This doesn’t have an Ilum crystal,” he said. “What did you use?” 

“Tatooine Emerald,” Luke said, and Anakin looked at the lightsaber again, in surprise. 

“I didn't know the Emeralds were strong enough,” Anakin said. 

“I didn’t have time to wait,” Luke said. “When I built it, access to Ilum was…highly restricted. Even for Jedi.” He shrugged. 

“Which you said you are not,” Obi-Wan reminded him. 

Luke stared at him, and Obi-Wan blinked. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that, and he could almost hear the echo of Qui-Gon, “…really, Padawan?” 

“I said I was not in the Order,” Luke said. “But I am a Jedi.” He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t need to. The Force sang the truth of what he said. 

“What you are is a mystery,” Obi-Wan said. “Luckily, we have two weeks to figure it out.” 

Luke grinned. “I certainly hope so.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MANY thanks to hobbitystmarymorstan for the last minute beta! They also gave me a hand with chapter 1, so check it out it's new and improved!

If not for the way his bones ached in the chill of space, Luke would think this a vision. It would not be the first elaborate vision the Force had sent his way, but it would be the most realistic. 

Ben. 

Father. 

Young and alive, sitting before him, wary and disappointed, and really Luke thought he would be used to that by now. He was well aware of how unassuming he was, when he didn’t have the weight of his reputation preceding him—and he was used to the way people looked at him sideways, as if to say “that’s Luke Skywalker? I thought he’d be….taller.” But unlike before, in the senate and on the streets of the New Republic, where Luke could let their disappointment roll off of his back until he did something that made their eyes go round, and made the myth of him just that much larger, well—

Obi-Wan and Anakin were Jedi in a world of Jedi; what was extraordinary to people in Luke’s time was commonplace now, and as comfortable as Luke had gotten in his skill, there was that frisson of disquiet that he was not good enough, that he was pretending to a title that he had no right to. 

Luke breathed deeply, keeping his face serene, and let his doubt go. It would do him no good, and would only fester. They would just have to live with the disappointment that Luke could not give them the answers they wanted; too much was riding on the ignorance of Anakin Skywalker. 

Yet, as used though Luke was used to way Jedi shifted between points of view like screens on a data pad—Luke was a son of the suns, and a Freeborn child of a Freedman, and treasured his ability to speak freely. Aunt Beru had been careful to teach him the ways to say without saying, to hear what was said in the silences between words, long before he ever met Ben Kenobi. They were Farmers, Freemen, but life could change like the dunes on Tatooine, and no one who lived there was ever truly far removed from slavery. 

If others thought him naive, then that was their failing, not his. Luke knew the value of honesty. 

Anakin stood, looking down at Luke. “You must be hungry,” he said. “I’ll get us some food.” 

He turned, not seeing the way Obi-Wan watched him, concerned. Luke understood his urge to leave to compose himself, and it was telling that Anakin was getting food. Desert hospitality for an elder, doubly necessary to one who shared a name. It was comforting to see that some habits hadn’t left Anakin, though Luke was startled to realize that Obi-Wan didn’t recognize the behavior. (It was possible that Anakin didn’t either, and that was something to meditate on). 

It was startling, as well, to see how easy Anakin’s face was to read, though it wasn’t surprising that he felt things so deeply. Obi-Wan, by comparison, could have been carved from stone, though Luke knew he felt things no less deeply. 

Luke wondered just what Obi-Wan had lost in the desert, scoured clean by the burning sands. 

A blue glow appeared to Obi-Wan’s right, and Luke glanced up to see a man, tall and distinguished of face, with long greying hair half pulled back. He wore a beard, trimmed close, and the robes of a Jedi. He didn’t speak, just watched at Obi-Wan for a long moment. When he looked at Luke, at last, he seemed startled that Luke was looking back. He disappeared then, as if he had never been, and Luke realized that Obi-Wan had never reacted. 

Could Obi-Wan not see him? It made little sense: most of Luke’s time with Obi-Wan had actually happened _after_ Obi-Wan lost the duel with Vader on the Death Star. That Obi-Wan, who had guided Luke for years as a ghost, could not see them himself...

“I would very much like to hear your story,” Obi-Wan said, at last. His tone was mild—the same way it had been mild in Mos Eisley right before his lightsaber came out. Luke knew very well what kind of violence and steel that mild tone could hide. But how much could he say?

“There’s really not much to tell,” he said at last, and smiled ruefully at the waves of incredulity that practically radiated off of his former—future?—master. “Truly,” he said again. “I lived on Tatooine for most of my early life. Ben watched over me, and when he felt I was ready, he offered to train me.” Luke looked away. Even though death had not stopped him from talking with Obi-Wan, it still hurt to remember—the disbelief, the way his stomach dropped when Vader’s saber swung—the look on Ben’s face when he was let it happen. “When he died,” Luke said, much more softly, “I learned from a new Master. He named me a Jedi, though it took several years for me to really feel like a Jedi.” Some days, he still didn’t. Most days. 

***

Luke seemed caught in some memory, but when he looked up once more he smiled, and Obi-Wan was surprised with how _boyish_ it was, how earnest. (How familiar, whispered the Force in his head, in a voice like his old Master) Luke shrugged

Obi-Wan smiled back, seemingly despite himself, and put aside his reaction to meditate on later. There was still no thrill of danger, like a plucked thread in the Force, and Obi-Wan could let himself be charming. 

“You’re not alone in that,” Obi-Wan said. “Most transitions happen gradually—and one notices the change long after the change has finished.” 

Luke nodded, and scratched at his beard. Obi-Wan frowned; if Luke had been in the refugee camp for long, certain grooming habits may have fallen by the wayside. At the very least, Luke must be desperate for a shower. Obi-Wan opened his mouth, to assure Luke that he would have a chance to refresh himself, and sleep, soon, when Anakin walked back in, followed by Kix. Anakin held a tray fairly overflowing with food, and Obi-Wan blinked at it in surprise. Kix had his portable medi-pack, and a determined scowl on his face. (The scowl, Cody had told Obi-Wan, wasn’t permanent, but Obi-Wan had yet to see evidence of that. Cody had informed him it was because he only ever saw Kix when he had injured himself and was actively refusing medical treatment. Obi-Wan had told Cody to mind his own business. He hadn’t been able to see his face, hidden in his bucket, but Obi-Wan was sure Cody had been laughing at him.) At least this time, Kix didn’t seem focused on him. 

“Your name is Luke?” Kix asked, and Luke nodded. “I’m Kix, of the 501st. Hold out your arm.” 

Luke raised his arm without complaint, pulling his sleeve back with his metal hand, and watching with an open expression as Kix pricked and scanned him with various diagnostic tools. While he worked, Anakin set about unloading the tray. When the food was placed in the middle of the table, Obi-Wan realized Anakin meant it to be a communal meal, and he raised an eyebrow at his former Padawan in a bemused question. Anakin flushed faintly, but he stared back at Obi-Wan with a resolved set to his jaw. Clearly, this was something important to him, and Obi-Wan was more than willing to follow his lead and see where this was heading. 

“Physically, you’re a bit malnourished, a bit dehydrated, but nothing a few good meals won’t fix,” Kix said, pulling out a hypospray. He held it against the inside of Luke’s wrist and set it off before Luke could register it’s presence, and he flinched. “You’re also behind on some rather important immunizations, so I’ve given you a broad-spec. When you’re done here, I want you to report directly to medical so we can get you scheduled.” Luke nodded, and rolled down his sleeve. Kix eyed the prosthetic, but didn’t say anything.

“And you were supposed to report to medical,” Kix snapped turning to Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan chuckled, awkwardly. Apparently, Kix _was_ focused on him. Obi-Wan opened his mouth, but Kix cut him off. “I don’t care if you ‘didn’t get hurt.’ It’s S.O.P for a reason. I’ll see you there before the end of your shift.” 

“Of course, Kix,” Obi-Wan said. Technically, as High General, Obi-Wan outranked Kix, but you didn’t last long if you didn’t realize that medical outranked everybody. Obi-Wan had learned that lesson as a Padawan. 

It appeared Luke had learned that lesson, too. As unruly as his beard was, it did little to hide the smile he was trying to suppress. 

Kix huffed, but he left with only a small muttering about there being too many kriffin’ patients to do _house calls_ , even for Jedi. 

Obi-Wan watched Kix leave, and looked back at the table. The plates of food were filled with common staples from the mess, protein rations and bottles of filtered water—though Anakin had managed to grab a few packs of flavor packets. Obi-Wan looked in interest: he always forgot to look for those, and he sent a small wave of gratitude to Anakin when he placed Obi-Wan’s favorite sour citrus flavor in front of him. There were also, Obi-Wan was surprised to see, a strange assortment of fruits and raw vegetables. Produce shipboard was usually a rarity, but there were more than a few clones who were not above a little black market trading for food that wasn’t rations. 

Anakin sat, and waited, and Obi-Wan followed his lead. Anakin was not usually one to wait for others when he was hungry. 

Luke reached out with his metal hand and picked up a ripe piece of fruit—an export of Naboo, Obi-Wan thought, some kind of plum. He looked at it for a moment, his eyes soft with wonder though his gaze was long, and then bit enthusiastically into the fruit. Anakin reached gratefully for food of his own, and then glared at Obi-Wan until Obi-Wan took something for himself. Obi-Wan settled on another of those plums and a protein ration (contrary to what Kix seemed to believe, Obi-Wan did know how to feed himself), and slowly began to dismantle and eat his food. 

It was some sort of ritual, Obi-Wan realized. Or a least a custom. While obviously limited by what was on board, Anakin had done his best to mimic desert foods, with fruits and vegetables that were high in water content—the best kind of hospitality to offer on a desert world—and the deference to Luke while eating seemed like deference given to an elder.

Neither Luke nor Anakin spoke during the meal, and Obi-Wan was content to follow their lead – Anakin had thrown himself into Coruscanti culture, trying to adapt to Temple life as quickly as possible – Obi-Wan had let him, thinking it's the best choice for Anakin. Obi-Wan knew well how cool children could be when faced with difference.

Now, however, Obi-Wan wasn't so sure. Anakin moved without any of the self-consciousness of his Temple habits, despite what must be mixed feelings about the memories that this ritual must have dug up – and being that it gave Obi-Wan the chance to observe a new culture without the threat of war or failed negotiation. It was a welcome relief.

And yet...the ritual resolved without discussion, and Obi-Wan was left bewildered as Anakin smiled and begin to clear away the meal--Luke bashful, but clearly hopeful.

Just what had Obi-Wan missed?

He would have to ask Anakin later, as Cody's appearance at the door signaled that Obi-Wan's time was up – he and Luke were to report to the infirmary.

***

Anakin watched Obi-Wan and Luke leave, even as he gathered dishes on the tray…

Luke Skywalker.

Despite his insistence, Anakin was sure Luke was a close relative. He sang in the force – as brightly as Anakin himself – and every instinct Anakin had was telling him to trust a stranger, that he was firmly in the light as Obi-Wan despite his haggard appearance.

There were something familiar about his eyes, too. Something Anakin couldn't place.

As it was, Anakin wasn't sure why he’d served a greeting meal. He had never – it was always his mother – (maybe that was why, the raw ache where her memory lived just a bit.)

It had simply been the right thing to do, accepting Luke is a traveling member of his clan, and for all that it probably made him a terrible Jedi, Anakin was glad to have family again.

***

Luke tried not to stare as he walked with Obi-Wan and and one of the clones, Cody. The last time he had been on a star destroyer he was still a half-trained hotshot pilot wondering what was so special about him that Vader had made him enemy number one--and still wanted him alive. Seeing the troops and their white armor didn't help, and he knew he was far too jumpy – they looked nothing like stormtroopers, with the bright blue or orange paint. But it was close enough all the same.

Cody seemed nice enough though, and Luke was sure it helped that Cody carried his helmet in his arms, displaying a scar the crawled around his eye. He radiated a calm competence that meshed well with Obi-Wan's energy.

Even if said energy was focused on trying to gently wiggle his way out of visiting the Medcenter. Cody, to his credit, refused to rise to the bait.

The Medcenter was busy when they arrived, but not so busy that Kix didn't see them and wave them in. Luke and Obi-Wan were ushered to a pair of observation beds with a privacy screen. Cody stood guard while Kix dashed in to see Obi-Wan.

Luke linked his fingers together, thinking. How had he come here? Was he stuck? How did Leia fair? Han? Did Ben still want to watch the galaxy burn to ash?

What was next?

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker. The GAR – the Clone War--it was too fantastical – this had to be some Force Vision.

Would the man so close to becoming Darth Vader serve a stranger?

The Ceremony was an old one, its name lost to sand and time, but it established many things.

\--you are welcome at my table as family until we part ways.

– Willing service of choice – I may have been a slave, or the child of slaves, but I am free and I serve you because I wish.

The Force pulsed around him, and Luke heard the memory of his father's voice – "… I must obey my master." His heart ached anew for the conflicted man his father had been.

There was a tremor, like a whisper of cloth but without sound, and Luke looked up to see the ghost once more.

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Hello," he said, quietly enough to not be heard next door.

The ghost’s frown deepened. "You can see me," he said. His voice was Core, but not Coruscanti, deeply afflicted and used to a considerable amount of deference. "Like a real Jedi master," whispered Luke's mind, and he pushed it aside as he nodded.

"Am I not supposed to?" Luke asked, mild and amused. And the ghost's face twisted in frustration. 

"No one yet has," he said. "They're so blinded by rhetoric they can't see what's in front of their eyes. Even my own Padawan – " he cut himself off, but his eyes flickered to the screen next-door. Obi-Wan.

This ghost was Obi-Wan’s master? But Master Yoda –

Luke sighed. Obi-Wan had his reasons for not telling Luke. He would do what he could to honor that.

"I am Qui-Gon Jinn," the ghost said, inclining his head. Luke nodded back.

"Well met. I am Luke Skywalker. "

Qui-Gon's face whitened, but then the curtain was whisked open, revealing Kix, Qui-Gon had disappeared.

Kix moved with the economy of movement that characterized all clones. (Luke had known a few during the rebellion – grey before their time, yet still fighters until their end.) And Luke fought the urge to raise his hands and surrender. He knew better than to argue with military medics--they’d saved Luke’s life far too often for Luke to chafe at their bedside manner. 

Kix was nearly halfway through his exam before he realized Luke wasn’t fighting him, and his manner eased a bit. Still, he sniffed at the readout of his scanner. “Early onset arthritis, the beginnings of cataracts--your neurons are firing like crazy.” Kix looked at him sharply. “Are you in pain?” 

Luke shrugged his shoulder, offering up a meek smile. “Usually?” he said. “It’s an ache. I thought it was age--I’m from a desert world, but I settled next to an ocean.” 

“This isn’t age, this is long-term damage,” Kix spat, crossing his arms. “What happened? You get struck by lightning?” 

Luke pursed his lips, and was satisfied when Kix’s eyes widened. “It was unavoidable,” Luke said. “But it was a long time ago: the medical droid said I got to the bacta soon enough to avoid long-term damage.” 

“Apparently not,” Kix muttered. “Bacta won’t do anything for you now, not with the amount we’d have to spare. But I can give you a painkiller--”

“I’m okay,” Luke protested, and forced himself to hold his ground when Kix glared. “I mean it; anything other than the lowest dosage and I have a hard time thinking. I’d rather keep a clear head.” 

Kix pointed at him with his stylus. “That’s another side-effect, you know.” Still, Kix sighed. “I can’t treat you if you refuse treatment, and something this mild, though it’s chronic and it _will_ get worse, I’m just not equipped to properly treat. When you get to the temple, make an appointment with the Temple healers.” 

Luke opened his mouth to say that he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have much choice, when the ship rocked, the deck tilting sharply and the lights going out.


	3. chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many thanks to hobbitystmarymorstan for the quick and thorough last minute beta!

Obi-Wan was halfway to the bridge when the ship rocked violently, tossing him against the bulkhead. He hit hard, grunting in pain as the impact jarred his shoulder. The emergency klaxons sounded as Obi-Wan reached for his comlink.

“Report!” He snapped.

“Sir! Separatists! They've pulled us from hyperspace!” 

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. Using gravity wells, now? On refugee ships? These damn clankers were getting worse all the time. “Get us free and out of here! Our priority is the refugees!”

“Sir!”

Anakin skidded around the corner, his hair a mess and his tabards crooked – looked like they'd woken him up from a nap. His comcall from Padme must have been short.

“Seppies?” Anakin asked, breathless.

“They've pulled us from hyperspace,” Obi-Wan said with a nod.

Anakin stopped, turning to head in the other direction. “I’ll grab my fighter –“

“No!” Obi-Wan said. “We are running, and nobody is getting left behind. Let's get to the bridge. Will have to trust the gunners.” 

“Right,” Anakin said, and they took off towards the bridge. 

Cody was there, fully suited, and he stood at attention when Obi-Wan and Anakin entered. 

“Cody!” Obi-Wan said. “What's happening?”

Cody’s helmet shifted, and Obi-Wan knew he was frowning heavily. “Sir, it appears to be a single ship equipped with gravity well disruptors.” 

“Only a single ship?” Anakin asked, eyebrows raised. Obi-Wan was surprised himself. It usually took at least three ships with disruptors to pull a ship from hyperspace; it was the triangulation of the net, like the Maw Cluster, that did the heavy lifting. To have a single ship capable of such a feat…

“How are they pressing the attack?” Obi-Wan asked, leaning over the display. They could worry about the ramifications later, once the refugees were safe. 

“That's just it, sir,” Cody said, and Anakin and Obi-Wan looked to him. “They aren't. They're firing all right, but they're not attacking. They're just – holding us here.” 

Holding them there for what purpose? 

“That is very worrying,” Obi-Wan muttered. “Keep working on getting us free, Cody. The sooner the better.” 

Cody nodded and turned away. 

“Sir!” Specs, cried out from his station. “We've isolated the disruptors!”

“Take them out!” Obi-Wan ordered. “Get us free. Calculate the next jump; Cody, I want us out of here as soon as possible.”

“Sir!”

The ship rocked again, and Obi-Wan gripped the control board for balance. The lights dimmed, turning red as Sith ‘sabers. 

“Hull breach! Sector C!” Cried another clone from across the bridge. 

“That's near medical!” Anakin cried.

 _The refugees! And—_ “Come on!” Obi-Wan cried, already on his way there. He ran, lightsaber already in hand, Anakin at his heels. A half squad of clones fell into step behind them. 

Obi-Wan followed the sound of fighting, rounding the corner to the infirmary, and blocking shots fired their way. Through the smoke that filled the hallway, Obi-Wan could hear the sound of droid voices, and the troops that faced them. 

“Incoming!”

“Roger! Roger!”

“Clankers!”

“Get ‘em!"

“Protect the civilians!”

And then, as soon as it began, it was over. Before Obi-Wan and Anakin could jump into the fray, the droids that hadn't been vaporized retreated, the emergency shielding keeping the atmosphere from venting and aircon already clearing the smoke from the air. Obi-Wan raised his ‘saber high, the blue blade casting a light like a beacon for all who could see. 

“Is everyone alright?” Obi-Wan called into the smoke. Details began to appear through the fog. Several of the beds had been knocked over, and the medical crew was busy setting them to rights. A few of the patients lay where they had fallen, stunned, but Obi-Wan didn’t think anyone had been too seriously hurt. Anakin had already joined them, moving the heavier equipment back into place with the Force. 

“Sir!” Kix appeared through the smoke, waving his hand before his face. He had a blaster in his hand and streak of blood and soot across his forehead. 

“What is it, Kix?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“I saw the whole thing, sir. I know what happened.” Kix bit his lip. “It was Skywalker, sir. They came for _him._ He's gone.” 

“Gone!” Obi-Wan cried. Sure enough, when he focused, Obi-Wan couldn’t feel his presence, muted thought it was. 

“Surrendered,” Kix said, and shook his head. “Those clankers—they threatened to kill everyone if we didn’t ‘hand over the Jedi,’ and he went willingly enough; I’ve just never known clankers to keep their word like that.” 

“They don’t usually,” Obi-Wan muttered. “That is strange news.” 

“There’s more, sir,” Kix said, softly. “Before everything, I had gotten the results of the tests you wanted me to run, and…here.” Kix dug into his belt pouch and pulled out a data pad. “I think you should read this, sir.” 

Frowning, Obi-Wan took the pad and began to read. His eyebrows shot towards his hairline. 

“Oh…my….” 

***

Luke sat in the hold of the droid ship, hands bound together in front of him. He had no blaster. Obi-Wan still had his lightsaber. The binders had some sort of Force dampening – he wasn't completely Force blind, but he could feel little enough, and the strain brought sweat to his temples.

Still, he sat, offering no reason, no excuse. This wasn't the first time he had found himself prisoner, and he knew how to wait for the opportune moment. He would gain nothing by moving too early. His age had finally taught him patience, after all. (Though, he did hope the moment would come soon. Age had also brought him stiff knees). 

Luke didn't regret his surrender; his options had been clear, if this peaceful cooperation could help to save the lives of those who had already suffered ...well–

If nothing else, Anakin had declared them family. Luke had a feeling he wouldn't be on his own for long. The Children of the Suns protected their own. 

_Still._

Luke leaned in towards the droid next to him. “Where are we going?”

“Quiet!” The droid snapped. Luke raised an eyebrow, and settled back. His silence only lasted for a moment.

“Is it Mustafar?” he asked. “I mean—I’ve always heard it was a Sith hideout, but—“

“Negative,” the droid next to him said.

“Quiet!” the Droid commander snapped. 

Luke raised his hands and shut his mouth, settling back into the seat again. That was familiar, too, unfortunately. 

Taking a deep breath, Luke closed his eyes and focused once more on his weak grasp of the Force. The work was slow, and required intense focus, but if he played this cards right, he’d have his binders unlocked before they arrived at their destination. He couldn’t shake the feeling that _that_ was imperative. 

***

Anakin stood behind Obi-Wan, watching as he reported to the council. As per orders, the ship had shot to hyperspace the moment they were clear, leaving the Seppie ship behind them. The fingers on his metal hand curled into a fist, the black leather creaking; they had left Luke _behind_. He was a _Skywalker,_ and they had left him _behind._

“More there is, I sense,” Yoda said, and Anakin focused once more on the meeting. Obi-Wan—

Obi-Wan _hesitated_. 

“There is, Masters,” he said, slowly, picking his words as if entering a negotiation from a disadvantage. “But the time is not yet right to divulge that information, nor is it right to do so over comm channels like this. Suffice it to say that we _must_ get their prisoner back; the Force is fairly screaming with it. 

Mace’s ever-present frown, already deepened by the long slog of war, turned impossibly ever more grim. “We have checked the Order’s records. There is no indication of this new Skywalker at any temple—not a Knight, nor a Padawan, nor even an Initiate,” he said. “And you say he knew Master Yoda?”

The troll grunted, tapping his stick on the ground, but he did not say anything, nor lift his eyes to those assembled. 

Obi-Wan spread his hands. “He did say he was not a part of the Order.” 

Anakin bit the inside of his cheek. He knew that tone. That was Obi-Wan’s politician voice, the one he used when he was saying things he knew others would not want to hear—because Obi-Wan had already said them and had been ignored. 

Yoda snorted. "A comfort that is not.” 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure it was supposed to be. It is simply what it is. Nevertheless, this Luke Skywalker is immensely powerful—and subtly skilled. We cannot risk letting Dooku get his hands on him—not having seen what he’s done to Ventress. To have that talent go dark…” Obi-Wan let the sentence hang, shaking his head, and the Council shifted, nervously. 

Anakin refused to shift, himself. He…didn’t think that Luke was likely to fall. His Light was so strong, so steady, so much like…like Obi-Wan. Anakin was sure that Luke could look temptation in the face and not quaver. No, Anakin did not fear Luke falling, but he knew that if Luke didn’t fall, then Dooku would not stand to see Luke live. Anakin feared Luke was headed for certain death, and for some reason, that thought brought a chill to his heart and a fire to his blood. 

Luke would not die at the hands of the Sith. 

Anakin would lose no more family. 

Yoda looked up at last. “Rescue him, you must. On this all depends. Cloudy is the Force around this new Skywalker, and yet a great part in the balance of the Force do I feel he has yet to play.” 

“Balance?” Ki Adi Mundi said with some surprise, glancing at Anakin. Anakin looked ahead and pretended not to notice. 

“Unclear much is,” Yoda said. “Very unclear.”

Mace cleared his throat. “Master Koon and Master Fisto, you are the closest to Master Kenobi and Knight Skywalker. Rendezvous with them as soon as you can. Master Fisto, the Council imparts responsibility for those refugees to you; you must fulfill Kenobi and Skywalker’s original mission. Master Kenobi, you and Anakin are to pursue and recapture Dooku’s prisoner and bring him here to the Temple. Master Koon, you and your Wolfpack are to provide aerial support to Master Kenobi.” 

Plo and Kit both bowed shallowly, accepting the assignment. Mace nodded. 

“Then may the Force be with you,” he said. The Council bowed as one and the display went blank. 

Obi-Wan stared into nothing for a long while, stroking his beard. 

***

Luke knew the moment they left hyperspace, and not just from the way the ship shuddered at the sudden decrease in velocity. No, there was always something, a quaver in the Force, that signaled their return to real space, like a wind blowing over the surface of the dunes, leaving ripples behind in its wake.

His binders hung on his hands, the weight of them a heavy reminder of his precarious situation, and Luke was careful to keep his proddings at them small enough to mimic a dampened presence. He just hoped it was enough to fool his captors until he could figure out a way out of this mess. 

Oh, he missed his lightsaber. 

He missed _Artoo_. 

The ship shuddered again, entering the outer atmosphere, and Luke clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to stretch out some of the stiffness that had settled in. Sands, he hoped this planet was _warm._

And yet, for some reason, he had a really bad feeling about this…

***

Obi-Wan stood at the observation deck, staring out into the star-field. Kit and Plo, and by extension Ahsoka, were due to rendezvous with them within the hour. His crew had tracked the mystery ship’s escape vector, and highlighted a list of possible destinations. 

There were so many--too many, Obi-Wan hoped, once everyone was assembled, that the Force would provide an answer. 

_”Yes, because the Force has been so good at_ that _so far,”_ he thought, and let a wry smile twist his lips. _”Oh, Anakin…”_

Kix’s voice echoed in his memory. _I think you should read this, sir._

A blood test. 

A _paternity_ test.

A test so clearly showing a father and son that it took Obi-Wan far too long to realize what was amiss. Luke was not Anakin’s father, as Obi-Wan had suspected—had been so sure of. No. 

Anakin was _Luke’s_ father. 

Oh, sweet Force.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to my wonderful betas! You're the best!

There was no one to greet them when they landed, and the droids escorted Luke out into and through an empty landing platform.

 _How rude,_ he thought, feeling the weight of irony pressing down on him. It said something sad about his life that he’d come to expect celebrity treatment when he was captured by the enemy. It wasn’t that they’d done anything to ensure his comfort, far from it, but they were usually there to _gloat_. It wasn’t encouraging; without the “you are now my prisoner" orientation, Luke was still going into this completely blind. 

Hopefully, he would be taken straight to a cell where he could be left alone long enough to remove the cuffs. He’d managed to find their release mechanism, and it wouldn’t take much to spring the lock, but it would be best if he was alone first. 

Muted to a distant echo, Luke felt the dark ripples in the Force around them as they made their way into the main building. It felt like the dark tree on Dagobah, or the Imperial Palace on Coruscant--it felt like the Sith. 

Not for the first time, Luke wished the Empire’s propaganda machine hadn’t been quite so efficient. Those, like Luke, who were raised in Imperial-subsidized schooling, were taught nearly nothing about the Clone Wars, and there weren’t many on Tatooine who would remember, let alone knew anything in the first place--but Luke knew the main enemy was the Sith: Palpatine before he declared himself Emperor, and his apprentices. 

Luke was pretty sure who was missing, and why this little adventure reminded him so much of his youth: once again, there was a price on his head from Palpatine--to be brought in alive and turned, or dead as a trophy and reminder. 

Luke hadn’t fallen when he was twenty-two, newly christened and near sick with worry and exhaustion. He wasn’t going to fall now, at fifty-two, with thirty years spent in the Light, fighting against the darkness. Still, as long as they thought he _could_ be turned, they would keep him alive. 

The building was--well, it was a castle, there was little getting around that. Instead of heading toward the central structure, however, the droids led him to one of the spires. With his senses dulled, Luke couldn’t reach out far enough to sense anyone living, and if there were people here, his droid captors never brought him near any as they walked down the corridors, each one identical to the next.

Still, Luke looked around as they walked, committing the turns to memory; he had a feeling he might need to make a quick getaway. 

He was led to a simple holding cell complete with a pink-shimmering plasma door. The leading droid entered the key code as the droid next to Luke jostled him with its blaster. 

“No peeking!” the droid commanded, and Luke stared back at him, eyebrows raised in bemusement. 

“All right,” Luke said. He didn’t say that it would hardly matter; to him, the security was severely outdated. He wouldn’t need the keycode to unlock the door. 

“Into the cell,” the droid said, gesturing with its blaster, and Luke, shrugging mentally, stepped beyond the plasma door. The shield sprang into place behind him, and Luke took a moment to look around the room before turning around. 

“Count Dooku will be very glad to see you,” one of the droids said, and the others began to echo with robotic laughter, some joining in with a, “roger, roger.” The sound of their clanking grew fainter as they walked away, leaving Luke in his cell to wonder--

“Who is Count Dooku?”

***

Anakin was waiting with Obi-Wan in the hanger when his padawan returned, and he watched as her ship landed in the bay. Ahsoka and Torrent Company had been on loan to aid Plo Koon’s Wolf Pack with some sorely needed air support. Anakin hadn’t like letting Ahsoka go off without him; he never liked when her missions diverged from his (she’s too young! his mind screamed. Were they not at war, there was no way she would be getting solo missions at her age, regardless of how qualified she was), but he couldn’t argue that she wasn’t capable of handling herself. 

He just wished she didn’t have to. 

Still, he couldn’t help but smile when the cockpit opened, and he saw her montrals peeking up over the top of her ship. “Hey Snips! Glad to see you back in one piece.” 

“As if there was any doubt,” Ahsoka called back, her sing-song voice floating down to him as she sprang from the cockpit. Anakin felt the Force swirling around her as she landed gently in front of him, and absently sent a wave out to Echo, whose boot slipped on a damaged piece of his ship’s casing. 

Like Ahsoka, the troops had decided to forego the ladders when they climbed from their fighters, but unlike Ahsoka they were free-falling to the deck. Anakin had to admit it really added to the image his 501st cultivated. 

Plo and his Wolf Pack were a bit more pragmatic, sliding down the bars if not using the rungs of the ladders, Plo included. Anakin had a brief flash of Plo on a children’s playground, sliding down the slide and the straight pole, rocking on the rope bridge. Anakin closed his eyes and shook his head. 

Obi-Wan stepped forward, formally greeting Plo with a gentle bow before his expression softened. “It’s good to see you again, Plo,” he said. 

“Always, my friend,” Plo said, “May we soon start meeting under better circumstances.” 

“Agreed,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m afraid we don’t have time to spare; we must be on our way.” Kit joined them, shaking out his tentacles. He had mentioned to Anakin once that being in a single fighter was a bit like being in a pressure-cooker, and it always felt better when he had room to move. “Kit, I’ll leave you with Cody. He’ll get you up to speed.” 

“He may be a bit grumpy at first,” Anakin added. “He’s in a snit because Obi-Wan’s running off without him again.”

Obi-Wan shot Anakin a flat look. “I’m hardly running off--” he cut himself off. “That’s neither here nor there. Cody will just have to learn that I am not only an adult, but a Jedi Master. I will be fine.” 

Anakin didn’t have to say anything, but Kit had to turn away to hide a smile--though Plo didn’t bother to hide his amusement through the Force. 

Anakin turned to Ahsoka, who raised an eyebrow at him. “So what’s going on?” she asked. “Everyone’s been real hush-hush.” 

“That’s because it’s a real hush-hush type situation, Snips,” Anakin said, looking at the assembled members of Torrent Company. To be honest, fresh from the field or no, Anakin would rather he had his men with him; he never liked being too far away to call for aid. But the refugee ship had been attacked once, and it made sense to split their fighters, so Rex and the rest of Torrent were rejoining the 501st on board to protect the refugees while Anakin and Ahsoka went off with Obi-Wan, Plo, and the Wolf Pack to get their wayward Jedi. 

The other Skywalker. 

Anakin’s _family._

Anakin clenched his fist and let his frustration simmer for a long moment before letting it go. “Rex, be a good boy for Master Fisto, won’t you?” 

“Will I get a cookie, sir?” Rex answered, his voice tinny through his bucket’s comm, and Anakin snorted. 

“This ends well, Rex, we all get cookies.” 

***

Ordinarily, Obi-wan knew, Plo would fly his own fighter into battle with his troops, but Obi-Wan needed to get him up to date and didn’t want to risk speaking over the comms. So, Plo was with Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka in the main transport while Wolffe and the others flew in formation around them. 

It was a larger group than Obi-Wan preferred for stealth missions, but there was always the possibility of meeting Grievous, not to mention Dooku, and Obi-Wan did feel a bit better knowing they had a force in the air. 

But before they could go anywhere, they had to figure out _where_ they were going. Anakin was sitting at the control with Plo in the co-pilot’s seat and Ahsoka stood with Obi-Wan before the communications display. 

“Cody sent us the last calculated routes for the droid ship,” Obi-Wan said, pulling up the information on the display. “There are several planets possible, and hopefully we won’t spend too long looking in the dark. Of course, enough time has passed that it’s possible that none of the destinations will bear fruit, but the rogers tend to be straightforward; it wouldn’t occur to them to change course unless someone told them to.” 

“Or if they were laying a trap,” Plo said, and though his voice was low and mostly modulated by his vocoder, Obi-Wan could feel his excitement ramp up slightly. 

“Then we spring the trap,” Anakin said. “At least if it’s a trap there’s a greater chance of Luke being there.” 

“Quite,” Obi-Wan said. “The question is, where do we begin?” His eyes began to scan over the list when a wave of--of _something_ flowed through the Force. Obi-Wan drew in a sharp breath; it felt like giddy excitement, like the euphoria that came from a sudden _loss_ of pain, and Obi-Wan had to brace himself against the back of the chair. Next to him, Ahsoka had dropped into the seat and was giggling softly to herself. Plo and Anakin both turned to look at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan could see that Anakin was a bit flushed--he had felt that euphoria too, then. 

“It had to be Luke,” Anakin said, and Plo looked at him. 

“He is that strong?” 

Obi-Wan nodded absently. Any offspring of Anakin would be powerful, and it seemed Luke was no exception. Add to that the sheer reserves it would take to survive whatever method of transport Luke had taken to get to the here and now--Obi-Wan didn’t believe in time travel, but barring a malfunctioning diagnostic machine, it was the only solution that answered more questions than it raised. 

Plo cocked his head. “Then is it not heartening that we did not feel pain?” 

Ahsoka’s giggles slowed. “Can anyone else still feel him?” 

Obi-Wan stopped. Now that the euphoria had passed, Obi-Wan could feel Luke shining like a beacon, like a bright star in the distance. They hadn’t felt pain--they hadn’t felt anything--and then--

“They had him in dampeners,” Obi-Wan said. “They must have.” 

“Well, he’s free of them now,” Anakin said. 

“Quick!” Obi-Wan said. “Pinpoint his location in case he goes dark again!” 

“Already on it,” Anakin said, and as he spoke, the coordinates flashed across the screen. Obi-Wan bent closer to look and felt a flash of resigned dread. 

“He’s on Kohlma’s moon,” Anakin said. 

Ahsoka looked between them all. “I don’t get it. What’s on Kohlma’s moon?” 

Plo rumbled quietly, a low sound of anger. “Dooku.” 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “Alert the others and plot the course. We cannot let Luke stay in Dooku’s clutches. Someone that powerful--”

“I know,” Anakin said. 

***

It took maybe five minutes for Luke to will his binders open, and they fell to his lap with a muted thud. He was glad he’d had the foresight to be sitting, because the rush of the Force returning left him dizzy, and he giggled quietly to himself as he was filled with the familiar pulse of the universe. 

He was equally unsurprised to see the ghost of Qui-Gon Jinn pacing the far end of his cell. Even in death, Jinn was a large man, and he reached the wall in only four steps. Luke watched him for a moment, simply happy to not be truly alone in this dark place, for now that the initial buzz was fading, the oily sick feeling of this place was making him feel a bit ill. 

“I didn’t think ghosts felt nervous,” Luke said, pressing his lips together to hide a smile as Qui-Gon visibly startled. 

“Luke Skywalker,” he said. “How can you see me? You’re wearing--” Luke held up his bare wrists to show them, and then gently began to rub the skin to ease the red marks left by the binders. “Those were dampening cuffs. How did you get them off?” 

Luke shrugged. “Dampened, but not gone,” he said. “Just takes greater concentration.” He looked toward the door and away from the befuddled expression on the ghost’s face. “So where are we, anyway?” 

“You do not know?” Qui-Gon asked, surprised, and Luke glared at him, his eyes narrowed in a way Luke had often seen on Leia’s face. 

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked,” Luke said, dry, and Qui-Gon seemed like he wanted to be amused by Luke’s sass. 

“We’re on Kohlma’s moon, in Dooku’s castle,” he said, and Luke nodded. He had never been to the moon of Kohlma himself, but he remembered talking to others who had--rebels who had fought in the clone wars before they fought the empire. 

Standing, Luke pressed his flesh hand flat against the wall, behind where the keypad would be. He closed his eyes, feeling the plasma running through the wall, tracing the circuits. “And this Dooku, who is he?” 

Qui-Gon was quiet for a long moment. “You don’t know? Truly?” 

Luke nudged the first relay, triggering the first number in the lock sequence. “The purges killed more than the Jedi,” Luke said absently. “And rule number one for a fascist Empire is to control the flow of information.” The next number clicked. “All I know about the war I learned listening to spacer vets on Tatooine, and they talked more about fighting clankers.” 

The third number tumbled; one more to go. 

“Dooku was a master in the order, my master in fact, and Yoda’s last padawan--before he felt to the dark side and became Sidious's apprentice.”3

The fourth number clicked. Luke turned to look at Qui-Gon, his eyes wide. “Sidious’s apprentice?” he repeated. “But I thought my--” Luke stopped, biting his lip. The end of the war was still nearly two years away. There was no reason to speak of Vader until it was absolutely necessary. “Am I to be brought before the Em--Sidious, then?” 

Qui-Gon just stared back, inscrutable, and Luke rolled his eyes. The last number slotted into place and the plasma door faded away. Luke grinned at Qui-Gon, and after a quick look around the corridor, stepped freely from the jail cell. 

He had only taken a few steps, with Qui-Gon’s ghost a half step behind him, when he heard the distinctive snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting, and the corridor was filled with an angry red glow. From behind him came a voice, a rasping woman’s voice that hissed. 

“Going somewhere, Jedi?” 

Luke stopped, turning to look. At the end of a hallway was the form of a Dathomirian woman, bald and sickly pale and filled with the wrath of the Dark Side, holding a lit ‘saber. Luke saw its twin still clipped to her waist, and he wasn’t at all sure they were the most dangerous thing about her. 

“Oh, you know,” Luke said. “When nature calls. I’m an older man now, some things are--”

“Shut up!” the Sith snapped. “My master wants you uninjured, and I would hate to have to disappoint him.” Her voice hissed, and her speech was as melodramatic as any Dark-sider that Luke had ever met, but Luke had committed his own fair share of melodrama in his youth, so he could hardly criticize. 

Time to change tactics. 

Luke turned to face her fully, folding his hands into his sleeves. He had no weapons stashed away, and despite Yoda’s constant rebukes, Luke now regretted not carrying a blaster as matter of course. Still, he bowed to her shallowly. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” 

Her lips curled in a snarl. “Jedi are always at a disadvantage when faced with true power,” she said, but she also started to walk forward.

“Her name is Asajj Ventress,” Qui-Gon said quietly from just behind Luke. Luke didn’t see the blue shine that signaled the presence of a Force ghost, and he wondered if it had to do with the way the Dark Side clung to and smothered the Light. “She is the apprentice to Dooku, who is called Tyrannus by his master, Sidious’s.” Qui-Gon paused. “From a certain point of view, she’s my sister padawan.”

“What?” Luke said, startled, but Qui-Gon was gone. Asajj, however, was not gone, and her sneer intensified. 

“You heard me, _Jedi_ ” she growled. “You’re not going to escape that easily. You’re going to cave, just like the other one.” 

Luke froze, feeling his heart pound as the Force screamed at him. 

“Another one?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Thank you all so much for your patience!
> 
> thanks to hobbitystmarymorstan for the beta!!

“Oh,” Ventress purred. “Could it be? The Jedi doesn’t know?” She laughed, and Luke forced himself to take a deep breath. The world around him seemed to sharpen, coming into crystal focus as he reached for the Force. 

Ventress was before him in an instant, the glowing red blade of her ‘saber a hair’s breadth from his neck. “Try it,” she sneered. “My Master will understand if I tell him you were killed trying to escape. It wouldn’t even be a falsehood.” 

Slowly, Luke raised his hands, showing clearly his lack of weapon, but he did not breathe until Ventress stepped back, lowering her ‘saber from his neck to point down the hall, back the way they came. 

Luke had no weapon; he could likely grab Ventress’s second saber with ease, but he had used Sith ‘sabers in the past and found the experience...unpleasant, to say the least. Assuming, also, that Ventress wasn’t strong enough to stop him. 

He could try for the ship, but even if he managed to reach the ship unharmed, there was no telling what sort of traps were waiting for him, and that was not something he wished to attempt in a ship designed to be piloted by more than one with the enemy alert to his attempts to escape. (It wasn’t the first time he’d been in that situation, mind, but they had all been unavoidable).

Besides, if he ran, he’d never find out who this “other” was. Was it another Jedi? Another here, who did not belong? 

“Well,” Luke said. “When you put it like that.” 

***

Anakin sat in the pilot’s seat, staring out into the streaking vortex of hyperspace. Seven hours into a thirty-seven hour flight and he should have been sleeping, but he couldn’t sleep. There wasn’t enough room on the ship for a moving meditation, and he never had gotten the hang of sitting still. 

_Staring out into the void is like meditation,_ he thought to himself, and the voice in his head that sounded the most like Obi-Wan just snickered. 

Figured; Obi-Wan wasn’t even there, and Anakin was getting a lecture. 

He flexed his hand, listening to the servos whirring as he first extended his fingers and then clenched his fist. They were near-whisper quiet, and muffled further by the glove he wore, but they still echoed loudly in his ears; Healer Che had said it was because it was attached to him, that the vibrations were echoing through his own body. It actually _was_ louder to him. 

Maybe he should let that problem rest for now: it never seemed to bother Padme. 

Padme. _Stars_ , he missed his wife; he missed the smell of her hair like spring flowers, the softness of her skin like warm silk. He missed the way she laughed and everyone laughed with her, and the way her smile brightened the room. 

What would she think of Luke? She married a man with no family, after all, what would she think about him gaining a--an uncle?

Who was he kidding, Padme would love Luke. Anakin hadn’t spent much time with him, but Luke seemed to have the same kind heart, the same patience and warm humor. 

They _would,_ get him back. 

Anakin was still there, circling in thoughts of his wife, when the door behind him opened and Ahsoka walked in, yawning and sitting heavily in the passenger seat. 

“You’re up late, Snips,” Anakin said, keeping his face towards the view screen. Still, out of the corner of his eye he saw Ahsoka stick out her tongue at him, the gesture playful, and he turned to look at her. Togruta didn’t show tiredness the same way humans did--there were no dark circles under her eyes, her face didn’t have that tell-tale pallor, but her posture was slumped and she rested heavily against the seat back as she looked out at something only she could see with her eyes only halfway open. “You look exhausted.” 

“That’s because I _am_ exhausted,” Ahsoka said. “I couldn’t sleep in my fighter on the way back; too much to do.” 

Anakin winced, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Ahsoka smiled at him, but it was interrupted by another jaw-cracking yawn. 

“Go to bed, Snips,” Anakin said. “You’re going to need to be well rested.” 

“I will, I will,” Ahsoka protested. “But I heard Master Obi-Wan talking to Master Plo, and he said we’re going after another Jedi named Skywalker?” 

“And you wanted the details,” Anakin said. 

 

“And I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Ahsoka said, and Anakin turned to her in surprise. “Family’s a touchy subject for you, Skyguy, and I thought this one might hit a little close to home.” Anakin continued to stare, incredulous, and Ahsoka shifted in her seat. “And I wanted the details,” she added in a rush.

 _There it is,_ Anakin thought, Ahsoka’s youthful exuberance giving him a foothold to regain his balance. It always threw him when he was confronted by Ahsoka’s compassion; it was humbling, and Anakin wasn’t convinced she had learned it from him. 

“We found him in our last refugee evacuation,” Anakin began. “When Obi-Wan saw him catch a crashing clanker ship like it was pushfeather.” 

Ahsoka’s eyes went wide, all signs of exhaustion fading. “That’s not easy.” 

Anakin shook his head, and told her the rest; finding him on board, the revelation of his name, and his relation to Anakin, his status as a Jedi Master, no matter what he called himself.

“He says he knows Yoda, and learned from him directly,” Anakin said. Ahsoka frowned. 

“I thought Yoda’s last Padawan was Dooku,” she said. Anakin shrugged. 

“So did we, but there must be something to it--it would certainly explain why Dooku came for him, how he knows Luke exists.” 

Ahsoka bit her lip as she thought--it was a tell Anakin was still trying to rid her of, but before he could say anything, she shook her head. “I don’t think we have all the pieces. Something’s not adding up right, and I don’t know what it is.” 

Anakin looked at her in surprise; it seemed straightforward enough to him. But, then again, seeing the bigger picture from the details had never been his strength unless he was looking at technical readouts. People had always been Obi-Wan’s strength. In fact, “You sound like Obi-Wan,” he said. 

Ahsoka preened, “Thank you,” she said, and was caught off guard by another yawn, and left blinking sleep away, vaguely stunned. 

“Go to bed, Ahsoka,” Anakin said, gently this time. “I don’t want you emulating Obi-Wan in your sleep habits, too.” Ahsoka giggled, a sign of just how tired she was. Normally, Obi-Wan’s short nights were a cause for concern, but with Rex on board to play Cody for the night, Anakin was sure Obi-Wan would get _some_ sort of rest. “Your questions will still be there in the morning.” 

“Fine,” Ahsoka said though a sigh, and heaved herself to her feet. “But only if you get some rest, too.” 

“Wolfe’s relieving me in twenty,” Anakin said. “I’ll be fine.” 

Ahsoka pointed two fingers at him. “You better,” she said, and walked from the cockpit still yawning. When the door closed, Anakin covered his mouth with his metal hand as he yawned so wide his jaw ached. 

“Damnit, Snips.” 

***

Luke was in a new cell, this time, one with restraints bolted to the floor. Ventress had secured him, ankles and wrists, while Luke stood as still as he could. The Darkness rolled off Ventress in waves, but there was something different about it, something less like Palpatine and more like Vader. 

It was enough to give Luke an idea. 

He had let Ventress finish securing him, certain that, if he concentrated, he could free himself once more. If anything, the bonds were overkill, and Luke was pretty sure Ventress at least suspected as much. Still, Luke was _also_ sure that this Dooku wouldn’t be kind to Ventress if she let Luke escape again. 

He shouldn’t care, whispered the old bitter voice that had been his companion all his life. She was of the dark, and whatever punishment she got would be her just rewards. 

Yet--yet, she paced outside of his cage, like a wild predator confined and anxious rather than collected and hunting. She would not leave until Dooku called for her or Luke or both, and it was the opening Luke needed. 

“Why the Dark, Ventress?” Luke asked. From across the room, Luke saw Qui-Gon lift his head from where it had been bent in thought or meditation, and met his eyes when Qui-Gon watched him, inscrutable. Ventress’s footsteps didn’t break pace, but Luke heard her snort. 

“Why does anyone?” Ventress said. “For power.” 

Luke titled his head, considering her words. “So everyone says,” he began slowly, talking to Qui-Gon as much as to Ventress. “But it never made much sense to me: if you desire power, why enslave yourself to the Dark.” 

Ventress spun, her lightsaber out and lit, crackling against the force field, sending sparks big enough that Luke leaned back. 

“Silence!” Ventress cried. 

Luke raised his eyebrow, not saying anything, and Ventress growled, nearly feral, and slashed at the door one, twice, three more times. Each pass sent a rain of sparks, but Luke did not flinch from them again. 

Ventress stood, chest heaving, breath heavily through her nose, and after a moment she grit out: “I will not listen to your lies.” 

Luke shrugged, as if it meant nothing to him. “If you’re certain I’m lying,” he said, as if they had been discussing nothing more than the weather. “It’s just...” he trailed off, and Ventress leaned in, her ‘saber humming dangerously over the steady whine from the door. 

“Just. What.” 

“I _am_ from Tatooine, Ventress,” Luke said, finally looking up to meet her eyes. They burned like binary suns. “I recognize slavery when I see it.” 

Ventress snarled, and jerked like she would slash with her ‘saber again, but the strike never came. “I am no one’s slave!” 

Luke stared back, placid. “Yet, you must obey your master.” 

Now, Ventress did let loose, with a howl of fury like an omen of death, and Luke watched the storm and felt his heart ache. 

“You know nothing!” Ventress spat. “You know nothing of power, and nothing of the Dark.” 

She spun, her skirts flaring, and disappeared down the hallway. 

Luke allowed himself to slump, covering his face with his hands. His metal hand was cold, it usually was and the castle had no heating system that Luke could fathom. More worrying, his flesh hand was cold, white and waxy looking, and Luke shivered as he pressed it inside the neck of his tunics as best he could. Luke had spent twice as long in space as on Tatooine, and still he had yet to adjust to non-desert temperatures. 

“Why antagonize her,” Qui-Gon asked, and Luke looked up at him. 

“I told her nothing that was not true,” Luke said. 

“There are truths and there are truths,” Qui-Gon said, and Luke sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Lies of omission are still lies,” Luke said. “And twisting the truth to suit one’s needs has never sat well with me.” Luke closed his eyes and focused on the cuffs. They were far sturdier than the ones before, and with four of them, it would take Luke quite some time to free himself. He held his chagrin inside--perhaps he shouldn’t have been so complacent when Ventress locked him up. Still, Luke opened his eyes to Qui-Gon’s frankly disapproving look. “What?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “I find it hard to believe that you’re Obi-Wan’s padawan. You’d be a terrible negotiator, with an attitude like that.” 

Luke snorted. “Leia’s the diplomat,” he said. “I’m just a pilot.” 

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile, and Luke frowned. “What is it?” he asked. 

“I see it now,” Qui-Gon said. “The resemblance to your father. You’re much more like your mother.” 

Luke blinked at him, startled. Even in his own time, nobody ever compared him to Padmé--Leia, the senator with a passion for Justice, she was often compared to their mother, to Leia’s pleasure. (“She was a friend of my father’s” she had said, meaning Bail as she always did, “and I based many of my early forays into politics on her. She was my inspiration. To learn that she was my _mother_...” She had trailed off in wonder. Luke had slid his arm around her shoulder, knowing why it was easier for her to accept Padmé as her mother, but not Anakin as her father, and feeling the sting of it, regardless). 

“You knew her?” he asked, settling back to the floor, and Qui-Gon nodded. 

“When she was a young queen, no more than fourteen,” he said. “I was the Jedi sent to manage negotiations with the Trade Federation, along with Obi-Wan, my Padawan still. She impressed me as a quite capable leader, despite her youth, and cunning--it took me longer than usual to realize that ‘handmaiden Padmé’ was, in truth, the Queen Amidala.” Qui-Gon’s gaze turned distant. “She’s a good match for Anakin,” he said. “She keeps him even.” 

Like Han for Leia, Luke though, and wondered, sadly, if that was still true. It had been years since he’d spoken with either of them, stuck as he was on Ahch-to, and things had been deeply troubled when he had left. 

Luke missed them both dearly, his ache for his twin’s presence twisting his heart for a deep moment, before he could breathe again. 

***

Obi-Wan knelt in his rooms, the lights dimmed to fifty percent, and tried yet again to reach a state of meditative peace--and again, he failed to do so. It happened, from time to time--more in his youth, less as he had aged--but sometimes Obi-Wan’s mind refused to quiet, his anchor in the Force rocked and hard to reach. It had frustrated him to anger as an Initiate, and had frustrated Qui-Gon just as much when Obi-Wan was a Padawan, until they fell on a solution: Obi-Wan never had trouble after lightsaber practice. So, when his mind wouldn’t still, Obi-Wan would work his body until it would still his mind for him, and he could sink into a tired peace. It helped a great deal when Anakin was young, as well, and to this day, Obi-Wan was sure Anakin couldn’t meditate without movement. 

But the ship was too small to spar, especially as full as it was, and so here Obi-Wan was, still unable to meditate and musing on his former Padawan instead of getting some well-deserved rest. 

Obi-Wan sighed, and tried once more--slowing his breathing and humming the mantra they used to train the younglings...

It was the blasted paternity test Kix had shown him that was throwing him off--Luke Skywalker _son_ of Anakin Skywalker--and Obi-Wan was the only one on board who knew. 

Luke must have known--to not know the name of one’s father was not unknown to those in the Jedi Order, but Luke had looked at Anakin with a depth of pain that came not only from knowledge, but the danger that knowledge entailed. No, Luke knew who Anakin was, and for reasons of his own, was keeping that secret. 

(And yet, Luke never outright lied, of that Obi-Wan was sure. He was less sure that Luke wouldn’t simply tell the truth if asked outright). 

Thoughts of Anakin rolled through his head once more, and Obi-Wan sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. The question of telling Anakin had been pressing on him since he learned the truth, and he was still no closer to an answer. He was sure he could work it through, if only he could meditate--but he couldn’t meditate until he had resolved on a path of action. It was a frustrating cycle, and Obi-Wan scrubbed both hands through his hair, a tell of stress that he hadn’t indulged since his hair was still padawan-short. 

Should Anakin know they were going to rescue his son, as impossible as that seemed? Or should Obi-Wan allow him to continue thinking of Luke as simply a more distant relation? 

Obi-Wan simply didn’t know. 

When his com beeped the proximity alarm, Obi-Wan stood and tried to set the whole issue aside. With no decision, it was best to carry on as he had--if he was to tell Anakin, the opportunity would present itself as the Force willed it. Obi-Wan would simply have to have faith in the Force. 

Resolved, Obi-Wan brushed a hand over his tunics and went to join the others. They were coming up on Dooku’s stronghold--he would need all of his focus if they were to survive the next few hours.

***

Luke had barely worked through half of the first cuff when Ventress returned, her anger banked to embers. She opened the cell door and stepped through, pinning Luke with a superior sneer. 

“My Master has returned, and has...requested your presence.” She gestured, and a team of battle droids stepped forward to undo his restraints. Once he was standing free, Ventress leaned in, her sharp teeth stopping mere centimeters from the end of Luke’s nose. 

“I will enjoy watching you lose, _Jedi,_ ” she said, and Luke wondered if maybe he hadn't miscalculated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to hobbitystmarymorstan for the beta!

_Dooku’s palace was surprisingly light, for the lair of a Sith Lord,_ Luke mused as he followed Ventress up from the dungeons. Instead of the spidery reds and blacks that Luke had encountered in the years since the founding of the New Republic, it was made of airy sandstone, and rather open to sunlight. The lights inside were of a yellowed green that reminded Luke too much of the predators that stalked Dagobah at night. 

Still, the whole affair was rather...civilized, and Luke was uncomfortably reminded of the various state dinners his status as _The Jedi_ meant he had to attend (or, rather, that _Leia_ insisted meant he had to attend. There were far too many, but Luke knew she tried to only insist on the most necessary of occasions). The last time Luke felt like this, he was being lead in front of Jabba the Hutt, a blind but awake Han Solo at his side. 

By all accounts, this Dooku was far smarter than Jabba and was therefore a great deal more dangerous. 

There was no way for Luke to slip his captors. Though Ventress walked ahead, she would twitch at every step Luke took slightly out of pace; she was watching far too closely, and Luke didn’t want to waste his energy fighting her when he was sure he would need it to face Dooku. 

Luckily for Luke, his pace didn’t falter when Qui-Gon fell into step beside him. Luke glanced over, as much as he dared, but Qui-Gon wasn’t watching him. 

It didn’t appear as if Qui-Gon would be talking, either, and ahead of them loomed a pair of highly ornate doors. The innermost chamber, Luke suspected. Dooku’s seat of power. 

Ventress held out her hand, darkness writhing about her fingers, and slowly, the doors opened. 

***

The plan was simple; the strike team would enter the palace. Anakin would take Plo to face, distract, and hopefully neutralize Dooku while Obi-Wan would take Waxer and Boil into the dungeons and retrieve Luke. Ahsoka would remain with the ship, keeping the engine warm and coordinating the aerial attack. 

It was so simple, Obi-Wan thought, that it was doomed to go wrong from the start. 

He paused, hoping the universe hadn’t heard him and would decide to favor them, just this once, and then continued the climb. 

They were scaling the lower walls of Dooku’s palace, in a carefully constructed blind-spot in the castle’s outer defence. One line of fault code, and every droid in the facility would look away at exacting intervals. It was _tedious_ and Obi-Wan’s arms ached and he was bloody _tired_ , but they were still unspotted and there really wasn’t another way in without getting captured. 

Above him, Anakin’s foot slipped, sending a small shower of dust and pebbles down on Obi-Wan’s head. Once settled, Obi-Wan glared up at Anakin. 

“Sorry,” Anakin whispered loudly. 

“You did that on purpose.” 

“I said, ‘sorry!’” 

Plo climbed up next to Obi-Wan. “Are missions with you two always this fun?” 

As one, Anakin and Obi-Wan turned to look at Plo. Then, Anakin’s eyes, caught sight of something. “There!” He whispered again, and a moment later had leapt across, the Force carrying him, to cling to the grate of a window. After a moment, the place came free, and Anakin climbed inside, holding the crate from his metal hand. 

“Come on!” he urged, and with a shrug, first Obi-Wan and then Plo followed. Once inside, Obi-Wan and Plot reached back and grabbed Waxer and Boil with the Force. Together, they carried the clones across to them. Waxer went easily, but Boil held himself very tightly, as if afraid to twitch. 

It had to be an air vent of some kind, an older construction of large sections of seamless metal. This was not the senate building; anyone could navigate their system with ease. It was a long moment before they finally found a way down into the castle proper, but they did find it, and down they went. 

Once on the ground, it only took a moment to review the plan. Before they split, Anakin turned to Obi-Wan. “Can you feel him?” he asked. “He hid himself so well on the ship, that I almost didn’t recognize him.” 

“He might have been drugged,” Obi-Wan offered. It would account for the way his presence had flared quite so suddenly, and why it hadn’t faded back to what it had been before. 

Anakin hummed, noncommittally, as if he didn’t believe that could be the answer. Obi-Wan gripped his shoulder. “Remember,” he said. “You are a distraction. Kill Dooku if you get the chance, but don’t go out of your way. We need you whole and alive at the end of this; if nothing else, there’s no way back out if you’re hurt.” 

 

Anakin nodded, saluting with his unlit saber, and led Plo down into the darkened hallway ahead of them. Obi-Wan watched Anakin run off for a moment, feeling a pressing weight like prescience on his mind, but no vision came and Obi-Wan forced himself to focus on the present. 

“Come on; the dungeon is this way.” 

Waxer and Boil nodded, following Obi-Wan deeper into the Castle. 

There was only one cell active, and they found it surprisingly quickly when the guard droids began shooting at them. Obi-Wan flowed into Soresu, sending back what blaster bolts he could as Waxer and Boil returned fire. The skirmish was brief, and Obi-Wan even managed, with the last bolt, to fry the door controls, shutting down the force field. 

Obi-Wan was at the door a moment later, and stopped just at the threshold to see--not Luke. 

The prisoner was a woman, middle-aged with long grey-streaked brown hair braided in a crown around her head. She was small by human standards, and dressed in utilitarian grey and purple, but for some reason her guards had bound her hands with heavy plastisteel cuffs. 

Her eyes, deep and dark, conveyed no small amount of anger even as they scanned him as a threat. Obi-Wan saw the moment she registered his lightsaber, the aborted flinch at the sight of Boost and Sinker behind him, and her mouth twitched. 

“You boys are a little short for Stormtroopers,” she said, with the dry warmth of an old joke, but Obi-Wan didn’t get the reference.

Stepping forward, he powered down his ‘saber and hung it on his belt. “They’re hardly stormtroopers,” Obi-Wan said, and unlocked her cuffs with a wave of his hand. They unclicked, falling to the floor, and Obi-Wan was surprised by the strength of her sudden Force presence.

Dampener cuffs?

Still, he rallied. “I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. This is Waxer, and this is Boil. We’re here to rescue you.” 

There was that laser focus again, tinged this time with bemused humor. 

“My only hope,” she said, her voice wry, and then her eyes went distant, unfocused. “Luke,” she breathed, and then she was on her feet and moving, past Obi-Wan and between Waxer and Boil to the fallen shell of a battle droid. She grabbed its blaster, hefting its weight and checking its charge with familiar motions. Obi-Wan watched her from the doorway, frowning. There was something about the way she moved, the way she took charge, that was frightfully familiar. 

An idea, a _suggestion_ of an idea, formed in the back of his mind, and Obi-Wan pushed it back down. It was bad enough that Anakin had _one_ offspring.

“Well?” She asked, turning back to them. “Luke’s in trouble. Are you coming, or not?” 

“Oh, I like her,” Boil said, quietly, and Obi-Wan had to admit that she certainly had a presence. He held out his arm in a sweeping gesture. 

“By all means,” Obi-Wan said, with a short bow. Her eyes narrowed; she recognized Courscanti manners, then. A senator, perhaps? Her accent placed her on Alderaan, but Alderaan’s senator was Bail. A puzzle. 

There was little time for puzzles, however, as the woman took off down the hallway at a gentle jog, blaster held at the ready and eyes scanning for threats. Waxer and Boil fell into formation, flanking her and Obi-Wan as he kept pace a half-step behind. Obi-Wan kept his senses open to the Force to sweep for danger--he should be able to easily protect her if something came, but in the meantime he would stay out of the direct line of fire of that blaster rifle. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” Obi-Wan said. “You weren’t exactly who we expected to find.” 

The woman snorted. “You weren’t the only one,” she said. “My name is Leia.” 

***

Ventress turned to face Luke, and gestured sharply at the droids with her chin. “Leave us,” she ordered. Qui-Gon, Luke realized, was already gone. Once more, it would seem that he was on his own. 

Luke raised his chin, meeting her gaze, and stood taller. She was taller by several centimeters, even when he was at his full height, but he refused to let that affect him. He had been Jabba’s prisoner, and Vader’s and Palpatine’s--all had been larger than him, and he still remained a free man. She would see that. 

Ventress _did_ see that, from the way her face twisted, and--

“Uh, are you talking to us?” The droid next to Luke said. 

Luke pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at Ventress rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, I mean you!” she snapped. 

“Roger, roger,” The droids chorused, and marched away. Luke watched them go in their waddling gait, and wondered that these droids were the terror of the galaxy. Ben had been right; any idiot with a blaster could be dangerous. 

“Laugh, Jedi,” Ventress sneered, and Luke turned back, cursing himself silently for his inattentiveness. “My master will ensure it will be your last.” 

Luke met and held Ventress’s eyes. “Your _master_ may try,” Luke said, his voice soft, and watched the way she twitched at his emphasis. “But greater than he have tried--and failed.” 

Ventress snarled and yanked savagely at Luke’s bonds, pulling him forward and off-balance. 

Luke staggered forward, just catching himself, and he followed Ventress into the room under his own power. As he entered he could see Qui-Gon reappear, halfway down the hall, watching him with sad eyes. 

The Hall was long, easily as long as the great hall had been in the Rebel Base on Yavin 4. That walk, in the rushed and giddy aftermath of the first Death Star, had been very long--too long, for a very different reason. 

At the far end, a single throne was lit by a pillar of green light. An empty throne, Luke realized, and instantly his senses were on high alert. 

“So,” a deep voice intoned, filling the room. It was easily as deep as Vader’s had been, without the mechanical edge of the vocoder and that terrible, harsh breathing. Luke looked, but he could see no speaker. “You are the one I have been searching for.” 

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Luke said, his mind racing. It didn’t hurt to admit the truth, however cloaked in politeness as it was, especially not if it told Luke more about this Dooku. There was only so much hearing from Qui-Gon could help--and speaking of, Luke’s ghostly companion was frustratingly silent. 

Could Dooku hear him, perhaps? Luke wasn’t sure what it would say about himself if the only other person who could sense the ghosts around them was a Sith Lord. 

His eyes could deceive him, don’t trust them. Reach out with his feelings, stretch his senses, and--

There. In the shadows to the left of the throne. Luke focused on him, and waited. 

“Of course I do,” Dooku said. “But then again, I have an advantage over any Jedi, bound as they are by their adherence to such stagnant _rules._ I would not take it...personally.” 

“I dunno,” Luke said, noticing the way his casual slurring of words made Dooku’s presence flare red. “This feels pretty personal.” He raised his hands, letting his sleeves fall back and reveal his shackles. “I have no weapons. Is this really necessary?” 

“A Jedi’s greatest weapon is the Force,” Dooku said, stepping out of the shadows at last. “And thus, they are never unarmed.” 

Luke didn’t deny it, and simply stood still, arms outstretched, as he studied this new Sith lord. 

He was unlike any Sith Luke had yet faced--though, to be fair, Luke supposed that his exposure was rather limited. Vader had been severely injured, and Palpatine had been rotting from the inside. Dooku, however, despite the white of his hair and a gravity to the way he moved, showed no such decay. His stride was powerful, purposeful, and Luke had no problems believing that this man was dangerous. 

“My master’s preferred form of combat is the second form, Makashi, known for its deadly precision and immense skill. Before he fell, he was considered _the_ master of the form,” Qui-Gon’s voice whispered quietly in his ear. 

“Now you tell me,” Luke muttered half-heartedly. It was a moot point anyway, being that Luke’s lightsaber was currently in the possession of Obi-Wan back on board the refugee ship. 

Dooku stared at him for long enough that Luke, who had grown used to the stillness of meditation at long last, found himself wanting to shift where he stood. Finally, Dooku turned. “Ventress. Release him, and then leave us.” 

Ventress startled. “Master--”

“Do you question me?” Dooku demanded, in a voice like rolling thunder. Ventress was silent for a long beat, and Luke felt hope beat in his chest. “No, Master,” she said, but Luke could hear it, the resentment, the repressed anger. 

“Good,” Dooku said. Either he hadn’t heard it, or he had misinterpreted it’s cause. Luke wanted to shake his head; how oblivious some people could be. “A shuttle has landed. They are unaware that they have been detected. Doubtless, it will be a rescue party for Master Skywalker, here.” Luke started; how did he know Luke’s name and title? Somehow, Luke doubted that he had a spy on the ship. 

“I can sense Kenobi, which means the other Skywalker is with him. Go, and show them the mistake they have made in coming here.” 

“Yes, my master,” Ventress purred, and Luke felt that sense of hope flutter and fade. 

***

Anakin could feel Luke ahead of him, shining like a beacon in the Force, and it was hard to concentrate on the passage before him with that brightness up ahead. Next to him, however, Plo didn’t seem to be having the same problems--he stopped, drawing his saber, before Anakin even registered that something was wrong. 

Skidding to a stop, Anakin lit his blade, and in the blue light of their blades, he saw Ventress, waiting for them in the darkness. 

Once seen, Ventress grinned, her teeth shining like a _krayt_ , and lit her ‘sabers, filling the corridor with their sickly red glow. 

“You shouldn’t have come here, Jedi,” she said. “For you come only to your death.” 

“I don’t have time for this,” Anakin said, and struck. His ‘saber sparked, caught by both of hers, and they were pressed chest-to-chest for a brief moment before she spun, sliding his ‘saber down and away, to spin and counter Plo as he came up behind her. 

“Make time,” Ventress hissed, and slashed out. Anakin jumped, the bottom of his boots just clearing the path of her blade, and came down to counter, but she was no longer there. 

Anakin hadn’t fought with Plo often, but the Kel Dor moved with swift grace and was a canny counterpoint to Anakin’s movement. It wasn’t as effortless as it would have been with Obi-Wan, however, and Anakin vowed to practice more with Plo when they got out of this. 

“You won’t defeat us,” Plo said, and struck. Ventress parried, and Anakin had a flash of insight. 

“Dooku knows we’re here,” Anakin cried out. “She’s a distraction.” Then, he had to jump back or be sliced across the chest. 

“It’s working,” Plo said, dryly. 

“Drop!” a new voice called--Anakin’s mind registered a few details as he followed orders. Female, used to being obeyed, and directly behind him. There was the whine of a blaster-rifle, firing rapidly, and Ventress blocked the volly with sweeping arches of her sabers until one got through, clipping her on the arm. It was enough to make her falter, and the next blast that hit her spun her around and she fell. 

Then Obi-Wan was there, putting his hand on Anakin’s arm and helping him back to his feet. “She’s just stunned,” Obi-Wan said. “Boil, restrain her. If we can grab her on the way out, we’ll bring her into custody.” 

“Sir,” Boil said, and cautiously stepped forward to place Ventress in binders. 

Anakin turned to the woman, to thank her for the assist, and stopped dead to see his mother’s eyes staring back at him from Padme’s face--but the eyebrow she raised, and the way her eyes narrowed--oh, he’d seen that look in the mirror too many times. 

What in the _Force_ was going on?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to hobbitystmarymorstan for the beta!
> 
> find me on [Tumblr!](scarletjedi.tumblr.com)

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, drawing Anakin’s attention with difficulty. 

Anakin’s confusion must be strong enough to feel though their bond, the understanding that was beginning to form in his mind, but Obi-Wan showed no visible signs that he could read Anakin. 

“This is Leia.” Obi-Wan gestured to her, and Anakin found himself staring once more. 

Those were definitely his mother’s eyes, dark and wide and wary. All too easily, Anakin could picture them warm and worried, squinting against the Tatooine suns. 

“Leia, this is Master Plo Koon,” Obi-Wan continued, and Leia looked away from Anakin at last, but it was no better. With her head turned, Anakin could see her resemblance to Padme more easily--the curve of her jaw, her chin. Her hair was braided strangely, but even that reminded Anakin of his wife. 

Plo placed his fist over his chest and bowed shallowly, and Leia returned the gesture with the ease of a seasoned politician. Anakin’s heart was pounding behind his ribs; despite Obi-Wan’s doubt, Anakin _had_ learned something of diplomacy, and he could recognize a senator’s manners. 

What life had she lived that she carried her blaster like a seasoned Vod? 

“And Knight Anakin Skywalker,” Obi-Wan finished. Anakin bowed, following not the Jedi tradition, but the Naboo style that Padme had taught him when they were first married. He could sense Obi-Wan’s surprise, and a brief flash of trepidation, though Plo remained placid. If he was aware of the undercurrents, he made no sign. 

After a moment, Leia returned the gesture in the Alderaanian style. Anakin forced himself to remain impassive when the depth of her courtesy indicated a member of a higher rank acknowledging one of a lower rank. 

There was a story there, and Anakin was sure he wouldn’t like it. 

Obi-Wan was at Anakin’s side, and Anakin forced himself to focus. He’d been so drawn in by Leia, he hadn’t noticed Obi-Wan move. “We found her in the cells--Dooku’s already taken Luke.” 

Anakin’s confusion was taken by sudden concern, and his eyes focused sharply. Suddenly, Anakin wondered just what features Luke was hiding under his beard. Would he have Padme’s smile the way Leia had his frown? 

“Then we have no time to lose,” Anakin said. 

***

Luke rubbed at his wrist as he watched Dooku; he hadn’t yet dared to reach out and confirm that Obi-Wan and Anakin had arrived. If they were here, they would make it to him. He had faith in that. 

His focus had to remain on the Sith in front of him. 

In turn, the Sith had his focus on Luke. 

Not since his trial in the belly of the second Death Star had Luke felt such a malevolent presence focused on him. For all of Dooku’s poise and seeming civility, his presence in the force was roiling with white-hot hate. 

But Luke was not the barely-trained youth he had been. Age had brought with it the patience that Yoda had long since despaired that Luke would never find, and the wisdom of when to use it. 

If Luke had learned anything, it was that anger was rarely patient. 

Sure enough, it was Dooku that broke the silence. “So. You are the one who will destroy Sidious.” 

Luke’s felt his heart run cold. Luke, at this point, was not yet _born._ How could Dooku possibly know of Sidious’s end? (Though, Dooku knew Luke’s name, his _title_. What else could the Sith know?)

Dooku looked Luke up and down. “I admit, you’re not what I was expecting.” 

Despite the severity of his situation, it was all Luke could do to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He closed them for a breath, letting his annoyance go, and refocused on Dooku. The Sith remained where he was, but now Qui-Gon was there as well, his usual blue glow faint in the presence of such darkness. The pained expression that he had worn while watching Obi-Wan was back, focused this time on his former master. 

Dooku, it seemed, could no more see Qui-Gon than Obi-Wan could. Luke could not afford to expect help from that quarter. 

Qui-Gon looked at Luke, pleading, and Luke looked back at Dooku. He cleared his throat quietly. “I’ve heard that before,” Luke said. In his youth, he would have added the challenge, _from better men than you_ , but there was something in the loss on Qui-Gon’s face that helped Luke keep his tongue. 

“Indeed,” Dooku said. He did not quite feign surprise, but his interest, Luke felt, was merely polite. Luke would have been surprised that Dooku would play that way, but then again, Dooku had the power, after all. He could afford to play the games that allowed him to indulge in his petty preferences. 

“I admit that I don’t place much faith in Sith magics. I much prefer to use the Force directly. It’s...cleaner. More orderly. Less reliant on myth and legend, and more reliant on the wielder. And yet, when my research brought this particular spell to me, well. It seemed too good an opportunity to pass up.” 

Dooku pulled an object out from the folds of his cape, and Luke recoiled. Seeped in darkness, the thing in Dooku’s hand was like a black hole in the Force--a far too familiar black one, and one Luke had hoped to never have to run into again. 

A Sith holocron. 

“A spell to bring forth the key to your enemy’s downfall,” Dooku said, as if he was a host at a feast, calmly and yet with hidden hunger. “So simple a concept, and yet so subtly complicated a casting.” Dooku’s fingers tightened as talons on the inky black pyramid. “I admit I first thought I’d gotten it wrong, when the other appeared instead of you.” 

Luke stilled, a horrible suspicion growing in his mind, and it felt like ice in the pit of his stomach. 

“But ultimately she had her uses.” Dooku returned the holocron to it’s hiding place with a showman’s flourish. Sleight of hand? Or darker magics? Luke couldn’t tell; with the Darkness pulsing through the room, it was hard to sense the more subtle manipulations. 

“I was able to use her to locate _you,_ after all.” 

Dooku stepped closer, crossing the room in long, sure strides. He moved very well for a man of his advanced years, light on his feet in a way that marked him as a fighter of the highest caliber, and Luke remembered what Qui-Gon had said about Dooku’s mastery of Makashi. 

Somehow, Luke didn’t think Dooku’s courtesy would extend to giving Luke a lightsaber for a fair fight, however one-sided his skills may be. ( _It wouldn’t matter_ , said a voice in the back of Luke’s mind. _Lightsaber or no, if he hurt Leia—_ ).

“You must tell me how you will do it,” Dooku said, coming to a stop a few steps from Luke. Dooku was much taller than Luke had anticipated, and even at farther than arm's length away, he towered. This close, the black cloud that surrounded him was oppressive, choking, and Luke’s eyes began to water. He blinked rapidly. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Luke said, and braced himself. 

Dooku stepped closer, nearly close enough to touch, his face mere centimeters from Luke’s. own. 

“You will,” he said, and Luke very nearly believed him. 

***

The tunnels under Dooku’s palace were labyrinthine, and, despite their proximity to the main hall, Leia found that they were nowhere closer to getting there. It grated against her already raw nerves, and she could feel her temper flaring. 

Coming to yet another dead end, Leia had to close her eyes, breathing through her nose and counting to quiet her mind. As always she heard Luke’s voice in these moments, coaching her through her meditations. _”Remember a time and a place where you felt the most calm. Picture it in your mind. Hear it. Feel it. Smell it. Let it fill your senses. When you breathe in, take that calm into you, and when you breathe out, let the anger and hate flow out.”_

In Leia’s mind, the palace gardens sprung to life; She heard the cries of birds, the babbling of water. She smelled the green scent of plants and the sweetness of the flowers. She could taste the coming rain on the air, and she breathed in a little of the peace of Alderaan, and let go of her frustrations. 

When she opened her eyes again, she found Vader watching her again. 

It was unfair, perhaps, to think of him that way. Force know Luke had done his part to try and urge her to forgive him, to separate Anakin from Vader. 

_”Father was just as much a victim of the Emperor as the rest of the Jedi,”_ Luke had said. _”He may have killed the Jedi, but he made Father a slave again.”_ He had spit that last part, the way he always did when the subject arose. Leia hated slavery, the way any raised on the values of Sentient Freedom did, but she could never match the utter hatred that Luke held, having witnessed it first hand. 

Leia was tired and hungry, and scared for her brother, and not entirely happy to admit that Anakin Skywalker felt nothing like Darth Vader. 

“This is getting us nowhere,” Leia snapped. “Did nobody think to bring a map?” 

Evenly, she returned the looks of the Jedi, raising one eyebrow when she heard the one clone trooper (Waxer, she believed) snicker. 

Vad— _Anakin_ (She had to start thinking of him as _Anakin_ , for Luke’s sake,) rolled his eyes and pulled out his comm. 

“Snips, you there?” He asked. A moment later, the comm sizzled with static, and a young, female voice came on the line. 

 

“I’m here, Master,” she said, and Leia blinked in surprise. She knew that voice; it was far younger than she’d ever heard it, but she had known Fulcrum her entire life. She knew that Ahsoka had been Anakin’s apprentice, Luke had told her as much after the Battle of Endor, but Leia had never quite let herself think through what that might actually entail. 

“I need you to send us the schematics for the palace,” Anakin said. “And Snips? Make it quick.” 

“Are you lost?” Ahsoka said, a teasing incredulity easily apparent in her voice. 

“Of course not,” Anakin protested. “We just don’t have time to take the long way.” 

“Uh-huh,” Ahsoka said. “Sending now.” 

Anakin pressed another button on his comm, and a hologram of the palace appeared in the air above it. 

“Thanks, Snips,” Anakin said, already spinning it around and looking for their location. 

“Little ‘Soka,” Master Koon said into his comm. “How goes the aerial assault?” 

“About as well as can be expected,” she said. “The palace defences are thick, but we’ve been out maneuvering them so far. Picked off a few heavy cannons as well. We’ll keep them nice and distracted for you, but uh...sooner would be best.” 

“We shall endeavor to be quick,” Master Koon said. 

“Got it!” Anakin cried. “This way!” 

“May the Force be with you, Masters,” Ahsoka said through Master Koon’s comm, and signed off. 

Leia hefted her gun, and followed Anakin down the hall. 

***

On the ship, Ahsoka stared at the silent comm. A soft beeping from next to her made her turn and smile sadly at Artoo. 

“Hey, Artooey,” she said, and looked out of the viewscreen, where the WolfPack’s ships were fighting the palace’s defenses. “I hope they hurry, too.” 

***

Luke stared placidly back at Dooku, cocking his head. He needed information, which meant he needed Dooku to say more than threats, and he needed time. The Force would provide a way, and then he could get his sister. 

He only hoped this didn’t backfire on him. 

“Funny,” Luke said, folding his arms into the sleeves of his robes. “Overconfidence was his weakness as well.” 

Dooku straightened. The air around them crackled with anger, and when he spoke, his voice was cold.

“Was.” 

Luke stretched his lips into a smile. Dooku wasn’t the only one capable of courtesy, though Luke doubted that Dooku would recognize this smile--the smile Luke had given Jabba, as he promised his demise, and the Emperor, too, when Luke had stood before him.

Leia was the diplomat, had been trained in saying the _right_ thing at the _right_ moment, but Luke was the one raised to speak in hidden meanings. 

“Was,” Luke confirmed. “You were right in that I have seen the end of Sidious, but I cannot help you.” 

Dooku stared down his nose at Luke. “He is the enemy of both of us!” Dooku hissed. “I have seen what the future holds! He seeks to declare himself Emperor, and will lay waste to any in his way.” Dooku pointed at Luke, his words ringing out. “The Jedi Order will fall, and you will not kill him!” 

Luke remained still, the bedrock under shifting sands where the hidden rivers ran deep, and in an instant, saw the future branching before him. 

On one branch, the past as Luke remembered; Dooku killed as Anakin took his first steps towards becoming Vader. The Republic falling away to the Empire. The Jedi hunted down and eliminated, save for a few broken survivors. He saw the Alliance spring like a firebird from the ashes of the Republic. He saw twenty years of resistance.

He saw the Death Star fall, only to be rebuilt. 

He saw himself, half-trained by desperate Masters, witness the end of the Sith.

He saw Leia, pouring her all into the fight for freedom, rebuilding the Republic from the fractured shard of the Empire. 

And he saw it all fall to waste, the truths he learned coming too little, too late. 

But down the other path, the branch born from Dooku’s actions, with Luke _here_ and _now_ \--and saw a chance. 

A choice--

\--and Luke nodded shallowly. 

“Yes,” Luke said, and let the weight of his past lay heavy on his words. “He will call himself Emperor, and the Jedi will end, and I will not kill him.” Luke’s smile grew, twisting bitterly. All of it true, from a certain point of view. 

In a flash, losing his temper at last, Dooku’s saber was lit and held a breath away from Luke’s nose. It was blinding, and the heat of it made Luke’s skin itch, but he refused to move more than a fraction away. 

“Then who does?!” Dooku cried.

Luke settled himself in the Force, and for the first time, he reached out with the Force. 

Behind him, the Hall doors burst open, crashing in the walls with a deafening cacophony. 

“Dooku!” 

Anakin Skywalker, lightsaber ablaze, strode from the smoke and rubble, a dark silhouette against the white smoke.


	8. Chapter 8

Waxer peered into the shadows of the abandoned catwalk, and when he was satisfied that the coast was clear, he signaled to Boil proceed forward with their...unintended package. 

Said package (She said her name was Leia, but Waxer was pretty sure she wasn’t the type to have only one name), followed Boil onto the thin walkway, hunched down low and blaster at the ready. She didn’t make a sound, clearly used to technical ops, and Waxer found himself frowning. 

Leia moved like the Generals did, all silence and grace that dared to break free of gravity, and yet she held her blaster like a brother. She spoke like a senator, but Waxer had never seen a senator dress more practically--not even Senator Amidala when she was on one of her adventures. No, Waxer couldn’t get a read on her, and he didn’t like it. 

Not to mention the way she made General Kenobi tense, and General Skywalker look like he had seen a ghost. 

And she was kriffin’ _tiny!_

Still, she took her position without question, familiar with their style of tactics, and readied her blaster. It wasn’t the right kind of blaster for sniper work, and they were certainly high enough that a sniper blaster would be useful, but Waxer had a feeling she would make any shot she wished to. 

Waxer looked up at Boil and the two shared a look before they both turned back to the scene unfolding below. 

**

“It’s over, Dooku,” Anakin said, pointing his ‘saber at the Sith. “Let him go.” 

Dooku composed himself quickly, though his ‘saber did not waver from Luke’s face. Already Anakin could feel his anger roiling, and his senses were filled with the scent of sun-baked sand and scorched flesh. The air around him trembled. 

Dooku would pay dearly for threatening Anakin’s family. 

“Knight Skywalker,” Dooku greeted. As always, he said Anakin’s name as if it was the polite form for something to be scraped off the bottom of his shoe. The leather of Anakin’s glove creaked as he tightened his fist. “What an unexpected surprise. I see that my assassin has failed me. Again.” 

“Oh you mustn't blame her,” Obi-Wan said, coming from the shadows behind Dooku, flanking him. His pace was sure, steady; he was Anakin’s other half in so many ways. The light to his darkness. “She really did try her best.” Anakin’s grin bared his teeth. 

Dooku breathed heavily through his nose, as if seeking patience. “Kenobi,” he said, through gritted teeth. 

“Count.” Obi-Wan’s grin was wide, nearly manic, and he thrummed with energy, a sparking wild-fire to counter Luke’s nova-presence in the Force. 

“Enough of this,” Dooku said and raised his hand. 

***

Luke’s eyes went wide as he realized a moment too late what Dooku intended to do. 

***

Obi-Wan wasn’t fast enough. He heard Anakin scream his denial as Luke was thrown back from where he stood, crashing into the wall and falling limp against the floor. The roiling surge of denial and despair that followed and filled the room nearly sent him to his knees. Forcing himself forward, ‘saber raised to strike, Obi-Wan tried to not think about Luke, or the way darkness pulled around Anakin like a cloak. Dodging the blaster fire that rained down from the balcony above, he put on a burst of speed.

Obi-Wan struck, his ‘saber caught by Dooku’s own and twisted aside as Dooku spun to block Anakin’s blow. Obi-Wan twisted, bringing the Force to bear to increase his speed, trying to stay afloat in the maelstrom before him. Anakin had an expression of fury on his face the likes of which Obi-Wan had never seen. (But he had felt, in the depths of Theed’s power complex, oh yes. He was familiar with that expression). 

“Luke!” A woman’s voice; Leia. “Luke, _get up!_ ” 

As focused as he was, Obi-Wan could hear the augmented command in that voice. There was power there, but no grief. 

Perhaps Obi-Wan had miscalculated the force of Dooku’s throw; perhaps his intention had not been to kill. Dooku was not one to waste resources willing, after all, and he wouldn’t go through all that to obtain Luke just to kill him. 

Or would he?

Obi-Wan spared a moment to look where Luke had fallen, but it was a moment too long, and pain exploded in his temple, taking his sight with him. 

***

Anakin’s mind cried out, but he couldn’t spare the breath for air. The last time he had dueled Dooku, the Sith had taken his arm and his dignity, thrashing him soundly. 

This time, he aimed for Anakin’s family. 

Anakin sneered, feeling his power coiling around him. 

Dooku would not live past this day. 

***

Leia fired shot after shot, snarling when her shots were blocked again and again. Dooku was actively fighting two Jedi; how was he still able to block her shots? 

The clones on either side of her, Waxer and Boil, were focused on the droids that followed Anakin through the rubble had had made of the front door, keeping them from reaching the fight and giving Dooku a greater advantage. 

It had been years since Leia had been in an honest to goodness firefight, and while she hadn’t missed it, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying the rush. The complaints of her body faded away--the ache in her bones from the damp and the ache in her head from the inhibitor and the ache in her belly from lack of food--as she felt the Force flow through her like an old friend come home. 

She could feel it, like a whisper in her ear, but it was enough: 

She fired her shot, and Dooku staggered back, clutching his arm. 

Anakin raised his ‘saber.

**

Luke floated in an absence of color, neither light nor dark, and crossed his arms over his chest. Although he couldn’t feel it, he could tell that his hand slid smoothly against his arm, and he paused. Since he had lost the synthskin cover, Luke’s hand had always caught gently on his skin. He’d grown used to it, but—

He looked down, and saw two flesh hands. They were both younger than they should be, but his right hand was older than he had ever seen it. 

Where was he now?

“Still in Dooku’s stronghold, I’m afraid.” 

Qui-Gon stood before him. He lacked the blue glow of a Force ghost, but was otherwise unchanged. Luke frowned. 

“Am I dead?” he asked, and Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. 

“Do you feel dead?” 

Luke thought about it. 

“I don’t feel much of anything at the moment.” Frowning, Luke thought back over the last few minutes. He remembered Dooku and the red lightsaber that singed the tip of his nose. He remembered his father’s dramatic entrance and Obi-Wan’s eager presence. He remembered the surge of darkness. “I’m unconscious, aren’t I?” 

Qui-Gon smiled faintly. “At the moment,” he said. “But you cannot stay that way.” Lifting his chin, Qui-Gon closed his eyes. “Reach out with your feelings, Luke. They will help you find the way back.” 

Luke nodded, and tried to order his thoughts. It was hard, harder that it had been in a long time. _You did just hit your head_ , he reminded himself, and breathed. 

And breathed. 

And reached out. 

And there, beyond the void, was his own twinned sun. 

_Leia._

A moment’s breath, and then co-mingled relief and frustration. _Luke_. 

Luke closed his eyes, letting his sense of his sister fill his mind, sinking into the bond between them. Leia, always so careful and steadfast with her shields, let them down easily. Luke could feel her relief at finding him unharmed, the depth of her grief for her son. For Han. 

And, like a torch, there burned her absolute frustration with him. 

Luke hid a wince and sent Leia his regrets. _I’m sorry—_

She cut him off. _Wake up!_

Right. Dooku. Mortal peril. 

Luke opened his eyes and saw a stone staircase before him, like the steps of the Massassi Temple, cracked and covered in moss and vines. Taking a deep breath, Luke began to climb. 

It wasn’t long until he realized he could be climbing for a very long time. The world shrank to the stairs that stretched before him and below him. He was getting nowhere. There had to be a way. 

A third option. 

“Of course,” he said. He looked out into the nothing around him, and took a deep breath. And another. And in the space between breaths, he jumped. 

In Dooku’s palace, Luke opened his eyes. 

***

Leia could have wept at the feeling of Luke’s presence in her mind after so very long, and when she saw him in person she would let him know _exactly_ how she felt about that. She didn’t have long to recover, however, as a lightsaber snap-hissed to life behind her. 

Spinning, she fired at Ventress, but the bolt was easily deflected. Waxer and Boil turned nearly as one, but were both sent flying off the balcony before they could fire off a shot, and Leia felt invisible fingers tighten around her throat. 

Struggling, Leia fought to breathe before she realized that Ventress wasn’t blocking her air, simply holding her elevated and keeping her blaster from firing. Slowly, Leia floated through the air and came to a stop just short of Ventress. 

Her eyes were not the sickly yellow that Leia had expected. Nor were they the blood red she had seen. Instead, they were a pale blue-green color--pretty, if not for the circumstances. It was enough to stop Leia from struggling. 

Ventress stared at her for a long moment, face a fierce mask.. 

“Your brother called me a slave,” she said, and stopped. Leia’s blinked, realizing Ventress was waiting for Leia to answer.

“Well,” Leia said slowly. “Are you?” 

“Never!” Ventress hissed, but her grip shuddered, and Leia choked on nothing. After a moment, Ventress pulled back again, and Leia focused on breathing. 

“Can he really defeat Darth Sidious?”

Leia weighed her options. After a moment, she tried to nod, Ventress still held her firm. “Yes,” Leia said. Cocking her head, Ventress eased back on her hold.

“Can he defeat Dooku?” 

Leia took a deep breath and nodded. 

***

Obi-Wan was very tired of head wounds. He wasn’t sure how long he was out--not long?. WHen he pushed himself to his feet, the room swam about him, but settled quickly enough. He hoped it stayed that way, or Anakin was going to tell Kix on him. Or Helix. Or _Cody_. 

He assessed the room. The blaster fire had stopped, and the only sounds of battle came from where Anakin was still engaged with Dooku. On the other side of the room, he saw Boil pulling Waxer to his feet, their main blasters missing but it seemed not too seriously hurt. Pushing himself to his feet and blinking to clear his vision, Obi-Wan watched. 

Dooku had taken a blaster bolt to his arm; even if not for the charring on his clothing, Obi-Wan would be able to tell from the way he had switched dominance to his other hand. Still, it wasn’t enough to slow him. He managed to block each of Anakin’s blows, and Anakin—

Obi-Wan had never seen Anakin fight like that, back straight and movement direct. His saber swung around him in blue arcs of light, without his usual flourish and flair, and his anger.... Obi-Wan shuddered. Anakin’s anger burned cold, and as Obi-Wan watched, he could see tendrils of smoke-like darkness curl around his brother’s aura. 

“No,” he whispered. 

A sound, a groan off to Obi-Wan’s left, and Luke sat up, a hand at his head. Luke looked up, began to smile at Obi-Wan, then frowned. He turned and for a moment he watched Anakin toy with Dooku. 

Luke stood, dusting himself off, and walked towards the fight. 

“Anakin,” Luke called softly. 

Anakin snarled, his ‘saber locked with Dooku’s. 

“Anakin, come back now. Please.” 

Anakin’s eyes flickered over to Luke, and Dooku pressed an advantage, kicking Anakin away. His ‘saber came down, the arc clearly aimed at Anakin’s neck—

Luke’s hand flew out—

Obi-Wan felt a tug at his waist—

A flash of green as Luke’s lightsaber flew through the air—

Anakin fell safely out of harm’s way. 

Dooku flicked his hand, Luke’s ‘saber knocked aside—

A blasterbolt whined from the balcony--

Dooky stooped and looked down, staring uncomprehendingly at the hole in his chest, and sank to his knees. Shaking hands rose, but Dooku slumped forward even as his fingers grazed the wound. Within seconds, Dooku was dead. 

For a moment, nobody breathed, but as the darkness leached from the room, Obi-Wan took a deep, gasping breath to ease the burning in his lungs. Turning, he looked towards the balcony, and saw Leia, blaster still raised. Behind her, in the shadows, Obi-Wan swore he saw Ventress. 

Anakin pushed himself up on his hands, looking at the corpse of the Sith, his face deathly pale. Even with the world going fuzzy at the edges, Obi-Wan could still see the way Anakin trembled. He stepped forward, to comfort and collect his former padawan, but before he could go more than a step, Luke was there, reaching down a hand. 

Anakin looked at the hand offered, then at Luke’s face. His eyes were searching, and Luke offered him a warm, sad smile, and nodded once. 

“How,” Anakin breathed, and Luke spread his hands. Then, he held his right hand out once more. His mechanical hand. 

Like his father’s. 

Oh, Obi-Wan had a headache. 

Anakin reached out and took his son’s hand, and let him pull him to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on [ tumblr!](http://scarletjedi.tumblr.com)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to hobbitystmarymorstan for their last minute beta-work!
> 
> Sorry for the delay, folks! Real Life got a bit hectic!

Luke half expected some sort of spark when Anakin took his hand, allowing Luke to lever him to his feet, but there was nothing more than the firm press of metal against leather-covered metal.

Steadying Anakin with a hand on his other arm, Luke looked him over, sweeping with his senses. Expression open, Anakin looked—very young.

 _He’s younger than I was when I faced the Emperor,_ Luke thought, and pushed away the tangled knot of emotion that raised in him.

There would be time to detangle that later.

Now, Anakin met his eyes, and Luke was overwhelmed by a flash of memory—watery blue eyes looking at him from a death pale face as the world exploded around them—and Luke knew Anakin knew the truth.

Luke didn’t know how Anakin knew, what had given him away, but it, too, would keep to be addressed later. Now that it had happened, there was no reason to keep denying it.

Besides, there were more…urgent concerns, currently descending the stairs in a righteous fury, as if leading a charge to battle.

Leia.

Her presence was a steady thrum in the back of his mind, her proximity like a gravitational pull, and Luke was _mostly_ sure she wouldn’t save him just to kill him herself, but…

“I could ask you the same,” Anakin said, and Luke blinked at as Anakin gestured towards him and Luke was brought from his worry. “Dooku tossed you clear across the room.”

“He did,” Luke said, belatedly straightening his clothes and shrugged. “I’ve had worse,” he said, smiling faintly.

Of course, now that Anakin mentioned it, all the various bruises and scrapes from getting captured and thrown in a cell and then tossed around finally made themselves known. It still wasn’t the worst he ever felt—that honor was reserved for the Force Lightning he had endured at the Emperor’s feet. He had been but the first in a long line of Dark users who had crawled out of the woodwork after the fall of the Empire, but none quite matched Palpatine for sheer cruelty. 

But he didn’t feel great, either. More and more, he understood why Ben had often chosen to supervise his training rather than participate. Getting older was terrible. 

Anakin rubbed his thumbnail across this eyebrow, scratching over the hairless patch created by his scar. It wasn’t a nervous tick that Luke had expected his father to have, but Anakin’s confusion and longing were clear in the Force.

“Master Skywalker,” Anakin began, and when Luke opened his mouth—even before Anakin had guessed, Luke had protested the use of his title, but Anakin corrected quickly, “Luke, I—“

_“Luke!”_

Her voice echoed out across the room like the crack of a blaster rifle, the tone of relieved irritation more familiar, and more dear to him, than his own. 

“Leia,” Luke whispered, and turned to face his sister. “Leia,” he said again, louder, opening his arms to her.

Leia didn’t step into his arms so much as impact at speed, rocking him back even as his arms closed about her. “Leia,” he said again, as if a third time make it more real. 

He had missed her so much—he always missed her when he was away. In the long span of his life, they had been more apart often than they were together, but being in Leia’s orbit changed a person, no matter how briefly they were there. Even though they could reach across the stars and sense the presence of the other—had, in fact, been pressing against each other’s minds like they had been starved for touch since the moment Leia had been freed from her restraints—it was not the same. 

“I’ve missed you,” Leia said into his shoulder, and Luke felt the weight of it in her voice—felt the depth of her presence, even when the words themselves failed to condemn—and wrapped his arms around her more tightly. 

“I’m so sorry.” The words were nearly ripped from him, suddenly desperate to have Leia know, to have Leia _understand_ that he didn’t mean to leave her, that his long absence wasn’t because of _her_. “I never meant—” but his voice cracked, and he found he couldn’t continue.

“I know,” Leia said, pulling back and cupping his face in her strong hands. “Luke, _I know._ ” Her eyes searched his, and her words rang with sincerity in the Force around them. He could feel no condemnation, no resentment that he had feared would grow—only relief, and an the familiar weary joy of a soldier clinging to the few bright spots between dark battles. It was not a look that Luke ever wanted to see on his sister’s face again—To watch her feel like she had lost her entire family again, to the dark side. To death. 

“We have a lot to discuss,” Leia said, and Luke nodded. At least his exile had not been in vain. He had discovered answeres to questions he hadn’t known to ask, and a hint, perhaps, of how to rid the galaxy of Snoke. Leia shook her head. “But right now, I’m just happy to have my _brother_ with me.” 

Leia lowered her head when Luke tried to look away, not letting him drop her eyes, and it was the same look she had given him since they were nineteen and Luke knew there was no point in fighting it. He sighed and let it go.

 _Message received._ Luke leaned in, gently bumping their foreheads together, a gesture of affection that, along with his accent, were the last remnants of his youth on Tatooine—and, in a quirk of fate, one of the last vestiges of Alderaanian culture. 

Leia stepped back and Luke watched as she wrapped the General around her shoulders once more, before turning to face the others, who had gathered during their reunion. The troopers, Waxer and Boil, Luke thought he heard Obi-Wan call them, were almost impossible to read behind their helmets. Obi-Wan’s face held the passive almost-smile of a trained diplomat rather than the fond warmth that Luke was used to, but Anakin was staring at them like a man in the desert stared at water. 

Luke saw Leia notice Anakin’s look and in the same moment decide to ignore the naked longing on their father’s (far too) youthful face. Instead, she planted her hands on her hips in a posture she had worn since the early days of the Rebellion and looked over the rest of them, assessing. 

“We have some more pressing concerns,” she said, and Luke would swear that even Obi-Wan stood a little straighter at the edge in her voice. “ Our first priority should be getting us home. I don’t know that you ever studied temporal physics, Luke, but I read about it in my father’s library. The longer we’re here, the more we are a danger we are to the fabric of reality.” If Luke hadn’t long ago accepted that he’d always be missing _something_ of context when dealing with his sister, he might be offended. As it was, he was mostly worried about the actions he had already taken. How _would_ Leia react to knowing what Anakin knew >

“Who would know what was done, and how to reverse it?” Leia asked.

Luke looked down at Dooku and scratched the back of his head even as he nudged the body with his toe. Sure enough, it barely moved. “Uh, I think you just blasted him,” Luke muttered, and Leia blinked down at Dooku’s body on the floor, and then looked up at Luke, narrowing her eyes, though her lip twitched with a repressed smile. 

“Pardon me,” Obi-Wan broke in. “But we are currently under siege, and our aerial support will not last indefinitely. I recommend that we depart, and quickly.” 

Leia raised an eyebrow at Luke, and gestured. _Go ahead._

“I disagree. This may be our only chance to learn just what...spell, for lack of a better word, brought Luke and I here. We cannot leave until we have at least looked.”

“We already know it was Dooku who brought us here,” Luke added. “He has to have a...holocron, or a datacard, or a book, or _something._ ” 

“We have to try,” Leia said, insistent. 

“We could always ask her,” Anakin said, nodded his head towards Ventress. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his feet braced against the floor, and it was such...such a _Vader_ pose, that even Luke felt the shock of it. It was not that Luke ever forgot how Anakin Skywalker had become Darth Vader, but to learn how many of Vader’s idiosyncrasies were really their Fathers...

Leia took a measured breath, and turned to Ventress, quickly walking to her. She stopped, just at the edge of Ventress’s reach, her hands folded together and held at her chest, the ring on her little finger catching the light. 

“I am already in your debt,” Leia began, “and yet I must ask one more favor from you. You know as well as I do that my brother and I do not belong here. The consequences of our existence could unravel the very threads of this galaxy. It is _imperative_ that we get home.” Leia paused, and Luke noted that, while Ventress didn’t uncurl from her defensive posture, her eyes remained fixed on Leia, and something about her softened, just a bit. “Is there anything, anything at all, that you can tell us that may help?” 

Ventress glanced over at Obi-Wan and Anakin, but turned back to Leia to speak. “I’ll tell you what I know,” she said, and the emphasis on _you_ was clear, “but only if I can leave, after.” 

“Yeah, not a chance,” Anakin said. “The Jedi don’t make deals with the Sith.” 

Leia tensed, and Luke spoke quickly. “But she’s not truly a Sith, is she?” He said, and turned to Ventress. “Are you?” 

She sneered, but Luke knew it wasn’t truly directed towards him. “Close enough for them,” she said, and crossed her arms. 

“It’s an unusual situation, to be sure,” Obi-Wan said, his cultured voice smooth, to soothe ruffled feathered. “It’s hard enough for the Jedi to accept the return of one of their own, let alone the return to the light of one who has never trained at our temples.” It was not surprising, Luke thought, and was very much in line with the council he had received from Obi-Wan and Yoda on Dagobah. “But I promise, Asajj Ventress, to speak on your behalf before the council. That is the most I can offer.” 

“Please,” Leia added. “It is your choice, but know that helping us now will only help you later.” 

Ventress stared down at Leia for a long moment—long enough that Luke was acutely reminded that Ventres was at least a head taller than his sister, and Luke wasn’t as fast as he had once been. 

“I accept your terms,” Ventress said. “I will help you because I choose to.” Was it Luke’s imagination, or did her eyes flicker to his for just a moment. “I do not know _what_ he did—but I can show you where he did it.” 

Leia smiled, genuinely warm. “Thank you,” she said. 

Ventress looked at the others. “Skywalker,” she sneered, and it took Luke a moment to realize that she meant Anakin. “Where is your little tagalong?” 

Anakin’s face could have been made from stone, but he pointed up, indicating the dogfight outside. Ventress hissed through her teeth, and turned on her heel to stalk to a before unseen computer terminal. “First,” she said, and typed a coded password onto the screen. “I’ve called off the droids. That should also give us the time we need, but we can not linger.” Ventress, tured towards the door, calling out and not waiting for them as they followed: “My codes are not absolute. Without confirmation from Dooku, the palace will assume I’ve turned traitor, and try to kill us all.” 

“Of course it will,” Anakin muttered, under his breath, pulling his com free moments before it beeped. “Hey, Snips. It calming down out there?” 

_”What did you do?”_ Ahsoka asked. _”The buzzdroids just turned and left!”_

“Yeah, we had some help with that,” Anakin said, clearly not wishing to go into it at the moment. “Listen, Snips, I need you to land on the south platform, but don’t leave the ship: we may need a getaway pilot, and we’ll need that ship prepped.” 

_”Can do, Skyguy!”_ Ahsoka said. _”I’ll pass on the word, and have them run a simple perimeter,”_ and then she ended the call. 

“So, wait,” Anakin said, glaring at Ventress. “Were you just going to let us fight our way out of here when you could have stopped the attack?” 

Ventress didn’t pause in her stride, but she sent a smirk Anakin’s way. “ _You_ are the invading party, remember?” she said, snide, and then gestured. “It’s this way.” 

She led them down another hallway that looked identical to the one they just left, and Luke began to doubt that he’d be able to make it back to the landing pad without a guide. It wasn’t as bad as Hoth, where the tunnels were not only uniform, but occasionally shifted due to cave-ins, especially in the early days when the Rebellion was still learning how to build with ice, and just how high they could turn their heaters. (The answer had been “not high enough,” and Luke’s memory of that time was a long string of cold punctuated by brief moments of warmth in his fighter). 

Dooku’s halls, however, had a lingering malaise about them, designed to confuse and distract. Luke doubted that even if the hallways were all different, a stranger or uninvited guest would find themselves hopelessly lost anyway. 

Leia walked beside him, chin high and pace steady; she always had been one to walk like she was running, and she usually ended up walking slightly ahead of Luke, rather than with him, save for those few times that Luke ran, too. 

Luke’s eyes kept drifting to his sister; she was here, really _here_. Her hair was a little greyer, and the lines at the corners of her eyes were permanent, but her eyes burned with the same ferocity, and her hair was still styled in the elaborate braids of Alderaan. 

“You’re staring,” Leia said, quietly. 

Luke smiled, and looked back front. “You’re here.” 

There was quiet for a moment, and then Leia said, “If you ever disappear on me again, when I find you, we will _both_ learn if you’ll vanish into the Force.” 

Luke’s smile was so wide, his cheeks ached.

* * *

Boil glanced at Waxer. His vod was being awful quiet. 

Too quiet. 

Already regretting it, Boil opened a direct line. “What is it?” he asked. 

“What is what?” Waxer answered, completely unconvincingly. 

“You know what,” Boil countered. “Whatever it is that’s got you all...weird. You didn’t hit your head when we fell, did you?” 

Waxer turned to look at him, and Boil could practically feel the sullen glare from behind his vod’s helmet. “I don’t hit my head.” 

“Then _what’s wrong?_ ” 

Waxer was quiet for a long moment, turning around to face front. Boil’s frustration softened, and he asked quietly. “It’s her, isn’t it?” Boil and Waxer both had their reservations at first, and not only about Leia. This Luke was something else as well, but he was a Jedi, and a savvy trooper learned quickly that Jedi worked under a different set of rules, so maybe _his_ weirdness was just more expected. 

Leia wasn’t a Jedi, though. Boil could tell that easily enough, though he wouldn’t be surprised if she could have been—Especially since her brother was. 

Either way, whatever it was set their Jedi on edge as well. General Skywalker looked like he wanted to claim them as his own, and General Kenobi looked like he wished they were far, far away. 

Waxer’s continued silence was telling. Boil sighed aloud; “She’s a lot older than little Numa, you know? She certainly shoots better than you do—”

“Hey!”

“She doesn’t need a big brother.” 

“That’s not it,” Waxer insisted. “She’s grieving, can’t you tell? And Master Skywalker, too. I didn’t recognize it at first because he doesn’t grieve like a Jedi—he grieves like a civilian.”

“The Generals know,” Boil countered. “Trust in General Kenobi. He’ll get things sorted. And besides,” Boil looked straight ahead, at the back of Ventress’s head. “We’re at war. Everyone’s grieving someone.”

* * *

Leia walked with her head high, one of the earliest habits instilled in her, and one that was often the hardest to maintain. Still, it had served her well during her tenure on the Imperial Senate. It allowed her dignity when faced with Vader and Tarkin, and authority when giving orders in the Rebellion, the New Republic senate, the Resistance. By now, she could slip deeper into her thoughts as she went by, her true feelings well hidden behind a mask of stern serenity. 

She did; she needed to think. 

When Ventress had caught her dead to rights, Leia had a thought that maybe, this time, her luck had finally run out. (Han’s had, after all these years. Suddenly, death seemed less like an old friend and more like a looming possibility). But Ventress had not killed her--had, in fact, helped Leia kill Dooku and end both of their problems. (That Dooku’s death had created a new problem for Leia was just the way her luck seemed to run, these days). 

_When a door closes, a window may open,_ her mother used to say, when she would find Leia hiding in the gardens, her skirts dirty and torn and her face red with frustration. (She could see things so clearly; why was it so hard for others to see it, as well?). _Wisdom is learning how to see the window._. 

So, Leia had killed the man who definitely had answers. It wouldn’t be the first time their best source of information died before they could speak. They had figured it out before. She had hope that they would again.

Of course, not a small part of that was having Luke by her side once more. It didn’t escape Leia’s notice that Luke joined the Rebellion at the turning of the tide; that the victory of others allowed Luke to accomplish so much. Perhaps that was the Force at work, opening windows for him. (She never should have let him go away). Perhaps now, the windows would open for them both.

* * *

Anakin walked behind his children. 

His _children._

They were older than any member of his family he had ever known, greying and lined with deep loss, but they shined so brightly in the Force. 

Luke was barely bothering to shield his presence anymore, and Anakin thought that Leia probably rarely bothered. They were bright as suns, (twinned desert suns, burning in the sky, stripping the land to sand, fierce and wild--but also, light that drove away the darkness of the palace like noon chasing midnight), and it hurt to look at them for too long. 

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, who looked straight ahead as if he couldn’t see, and Anakin would have believed that if Obi-Wan’s eyes weren’t beginning to tear in their corners. 

A trickle of fear shivered down Anakin’s spine. Obi-Wan knew, too. If he knew about the children, then he must know about Padme. If he knew about _Padme_...

“Through here,” Ventress said, gesturing at the door. “This was Dooku’s private study. If he used Sith magics or alchemy, it would have been in there.” 

The door was innocuous, which fit Dooku’s subtle understatement. It was good camouflage as well; no one would expect grand things behind such a simple door.  
The door was also stubbornly closed. 

“Well?” Anakin said after a beat. He gestured with the handle of his saber. “Open it.” 

Ventress raised her eyebrows at him. “I do not have my former Master’s access codes.” 

A muscle twitched in Anakin’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. From the corner of his eye, he could see Obi-Wan cross his arms rather than cover his face with his hand, as he clearly wished to do. 

“Fine,” Anakin said. “Then we’re doing this the hard way.” 

In a single motion, Anakin lit his saber and lunged, singing the bright blue blade deep into the door next to the lock mechanism. The door, for as innocuous as it looked, was made of thick durasteel, and it resisted cutting even as the metal began to glow and hiss as it melted. 

Behind him, Leia sighed. “This is faster?” she asked, low and with a bitter edge. “Compared to what?” 

“Crossing systems at sublight?” Luke answered, his tone too innocent to be real. 

“Cute.” 

Yeah. They were totally his kids. 

A moment later, Anakin cut through the locking mechanism, and deactivated his saber. He turned to the others. “You might want to step back,” he said, and raised his gloved hand. Reaching out with the Force, he tightened his fingers, and saw the dents appear at the top and bottom of the door. He brought his hand down, and the door tore from its hinges, flying into the corridor and narrowly missing Ventress. She snarled at him, and Anakin smiled, smug. 

“There,” he said. “Door’s open.” 

“Putting those problem solving skills to work,” Obi-Wan said, dry as desert dust, as he walked past. 

“It worked,” Anakin countered, following him inside, nearly tripping when he heard Leia quietly say behind them. 

“Well, now we know where _you_ get it from.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: The first posting only had half the chapter. It's fixed now :)

Waxer and Boil may have had the right idea by standing guard in the hallway, but Leia had always been one to run _towards_ danger, rather than away. It was a trait that had served her well in the Rebellion, when she was often running only half a step ahead of the Empire, forging her way on instinct and sheer stubborn will. It had been a cause of constant friction with her Papa, who would often say she was determined to turn his hair completely grey. 

(Mama would laugh at him, kiss his cheek, and say his grey hairs made him look distinguished. He always grumbled, but there was no hiding the way his eyes lit up when Mama was happy). 

It had taken years for it not to hurt when she thought of her parents, and even still the loss and grief would occasionally hit her with crippling intensity, stealing her breath and bringing tears to her eyes. Mostly, however, memories of her parents were warm, happy things that made her smile. She had told Ben the stories her father would tell, and sang him the lullabies her mother would sing (well--Leia would hum. Han had sung to Ben, old Corellian lullabies and the top songs on the holonet and sometimes even just narrating what he was thinking at the moment. He had a good voice, untrained and husky, but never off key. Those were the memories that she kept locked in her heart, lest they stop her cold when she could not afford it). 

Still, not a day passed when she did not wish she could speak to Bail, to ask his advice or simply tell him about her day, and now...

Leia had thought she’d made her peace with her...complicated parentage years ago. It had always been easy enough to accept that Luke was her twin. From the moment they met, there had been a connection, a recognition of _other like me_ and a flash of memory--a child’s dream of a young boy, white haired against a blue sky, flying through a sea of sand--but, even though Luke had told her of Vader’s death bed repentance, that he had, in his last moments, been _Anakin_ once more...

Vader had been the one to hold her still while Tarkin destroyed her home, and her family, and she had never seen how regret could change the truth of the past. Anakin or Vader, the man had been the source of the greatest miseries of her life. 

This Anakin was not Vader. The more Leia watched him, the clearer that was, and yet the less sure Leia was of anything she thought she knew about the past. Vader moved as if the galaxy would bend to his whim, and more often than not, it did. Anakin moved with confidence, yes, but it was the confidence of the awareness and skill that told his feet where to land to thread through the obstacles before him, like Luke had. Anakin used brute force, true, but not because it caused fear, or was the quickest way to his goals. Anakin, who was master to Fulcrum and brother to Obi-Wan—

And _Obi-Wan._ Leia had been raised with stories of Obi-Wan Kenobi, her father’s friend and Clone Wars General. Many of her own command decisions were informed by the figure of Obi-Wan that lived in her memory, given shape by her father’s words. 

This Obi-Wan reminded her more of Han than her father’s tales--winning through luck and calling it skill, or Luke--doing impossible things simple because he never stopped to think he couldn’t. Still, there was something about him that was magnetic, that called for, not obedience, but allegiance. A natural born leader, and one who was not afraid to fight with his men. Once they had all entered the corridor, Obi-Wan had stationed himself in the rear. It made tactical sense, when entering unknown territory, to have their strongest fighters both in the advance and covering their backs, and that Obi-Wan took up position seamlessly spoke not only to his ease of working with Anakin, but his willingness to fight with those he lead. Too many Generals Leia had met never saw active battle, and it was a relief to know Obi-Wan had honestly earned his rank. 

Luke was a steadying presence by her side, and Leia let his presence, filled with green and growing things (desert plants, scrappy and tough and yet all the more sweet and fragrant from the barren rocks that bore them, but jungle plants as well, lush green and overflowing), ground her in the here and now. 

Hefting her blaster, Leia walked through the darkened corridor, much preferring the spotlight at the endow the muzzle to the more diffuse and profoundly eerie glow of the lightsabers. At least Ventress was behind her so she didn’t have to look directly at the sickly red glow of a Sith’s saber, the same poisoned red of the blast that had killed the Hosnian system. The same red of the persona her son had adopted to hide behind. The same red of the creature that had once claimed that there was no escape, this time. 

Leia grit her teeth against a shiver, frustrated at herself and this entire situation. She had _responsibilities,_ damnit! There were people back home counting on her to lead them, she didn’t have time to play at adventuring! (Though, she always did love field missions...)

And of course, because her life wasn’t filled with enough irony, Anakin led the way, his familiar blue saber held high. Leia never believed in talismans that weren’t deliberately crafted as such, but even she couldn’t deny that Anakin’s saber had taken on a life of its own that far outstripped the legacy of its creator--even considering how far that shadow reached.

(Was it because it spent so long with Obi-Wan in the desert? Did it share its creator’s power and awareness of the Force? Was it because it saw so much change in the galaxy, passed through so many hands...)

Either way, it was strange not to see it in Luke’s hands, for all that she was more used to seeing him with his green blade. Green made sense for Luke; for all that he was the product of a desert world, he had never felt like anything but the lush gardens of her home--her mother’s gardens, where her Aunts would teach her marvelous things to make her other lessons less dreadful, (things like how to hide a slim blade in an elaborate hairstyle without slicing through your own hair, and the best way to slice into a closed network undetected). At the time, they were exciting diversions to break up the boredom, but as she got older, they became vital, life-saving skills. 

She missed them, her Aunts, and the way they would braid her hair (“As we braided your mother’s”) and play games (“Ha! Pure Sabacc!” “You’re cheating, and one day, I’ll find out how.”) and tell stories (“Long ago, on a planet far from here, there was a beautiful Queen, and she was kind and wise and snored like a falumpaset!” *giggle*).

They were gone, now. Like so much of her past, they disappeared into history, leaving Leia the guardian of their memory. Even the other survivors—

Leia stopped still, eyes blinking rapidly but not processing what was before her as her vision was filled with rapid images of green fields and blue waters, deep forests and alpine mountains. 

And people--so many people, living their lives. 

“Leia?” Luke, a warm hand on her elbow, and cool presence against her shields. “What is it?” 

“It’s still here,” she whispered, and turned blindly toward him. “Alderaan--it’s still here!”

Instantly, the corridor dimmed as he shut off his saber, his arms wrapping around her. Leia pressed her face to his chest as the images played out, slowing to a trickle and leaving her, at last, in the familiar darkness of her own closed eyes. 

“There was no time, before,” she whispered. Silent, Luke nodded his head, squeezing her tightly. 

“If there’s time...,” Luke began slowly, and Leia shook her head, pulling back. 

“No, no,” Leia said. “It...it would be Alderaan, but it wouldn’t be _my_ Alderaan.” They would be her parents, but they wouldn’t be _her parents_. She smiled, wry and sad. “Besides, I learned a long time ago that you can’t go back home again.”

Luke huffed. “Yeah, until you end up sent back in time.” He raised his lightsaber once more, but he paused before lighting it. “Leia...” he began, but Leia hadn’t needed him to finish his sentences or decades. 

“You don’t want to go back.” 

Shaking his head, Luke tilted his head, the only tell he ever had that he was using the Force. _”Not yet._ he sent, and Leia shivered a bit, as she always did when she heard him without hearing. _”The Republic hasn’t fallen here, yet. Our Father has not fallen. I’d like to try and keep it that way._ ” 

Leia raised her eyebrows. _”You can’t possibly--the past is the past, Luke!”_

Luke simply stared back. _”Are you absolutely sure?_

And Leia couldn’t say. 

By her reckoning, it had only been a few days since she was pulled from her own bed--only hours after they learned about the destruction of the Starkiller, she had stumbled, heartsore and numb, to the standard issue pallet that was so familiar from her days with the Alliance that, on her first night bedding down, she was overcome by an unsettling wave of nostalgia--and into...this. The past, apparently. 

Though...it couldn’t be the past; she killed Dooku. If she was in her own past, she would have been _unable_ to kill the Count, unless it was always her that killed him, but it _wasn’t_. 

So they couldn’t be in _her_ past, but _a_ past--an alternate past, where Dooku always called her and Luke, and where she always shot to kill, and where...

Where the war ends, and Anakin never becomes Vader, and the Republic never falls to Empire. 

Where the First Order never rises and evils like Snoke are kept at bay by the light of the Order. Where her son never falls and Han—

Leia raised her finger, poking Luke in the chest. “Fine. But you will listen to _me_ , Luke Skywalker. Your plans aren’t worth spit.” 

Luke grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * *

Obi-Wan let Anakin take point; his partner wasn’t always good at springing traps without injury, but he was better than Obi-Wan at sensing them. One day, Obi-Wan may even tell him, when he could be sure Anakin wouldn’t let it go to his head and get cocky. 

Cocky soldiers didn’t last long in war. 

Up ahead, something caused Leia to pause. Instantly, Obi-Wan was on alert, but Luke was there, speaking to her in low tones. The Force swirled around them, like a beacon in the darkness, and for the moment, Obi-Wan let them be. 

Hefting his lightsaber, Obi-Wan studied the corridor, keeping half an eye on Ventress. Dooku’s assassin--well, former assassin, now, he supposed--moved as slowly as they did, equally unfamiliar with this place. 

“Dooku didn’t share much, did he?” Obi-Wan asked softly. Ventress stiffened. 

“Do not presume to know me, or speak of that which you do not understand,” she said, voice low, through gritted teeth.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Yan Dooku was the Master of my Master, and for the nearly twenty years that I was his Padawan, I saw him but once.” Ventress didn’t react visibly to the news, either she already knew or she was good at disguising her surprise. “It was at a distance,” he continued,” and I had to watch as he snubbed my Master.” He paused before the next part, unsure if he should share something so deep, but the words flew from his lips, bitter and crackling. “And, when my Master died and the whole Temple offered me their kind words, Dooku was nowhere to be found. My Grandmaster--a ghost, probably already Fallen.” Obi-Wan breathed through his nose for a moment, forcing calm. “I am very familiar with what that man would not share.” He nodded at Ventress as he stepped past to take a closer look at one of the walls. 

Unlike the palace, this corridor appeared rough-hewn, as if done in haste, save for the intricate patterning that was visible if one looked at just the right angle. He had noticed it out of the corner of his eye, glinting at him in the light from his ‘saber. It looked like lettering, of a kind Obi-Wan almost recognized. He held his ‘saber right up to the wall, as close as he could, and reached out to trace his finger along the pattern, to see if that would, perhaps, clear it in his mind—

Ventress caught his wrist just shy of the wall. Her fingers were warmer than he expected, and strong. The look in her eyes, however, could freeze plasma. 

“You don’t know everything.” 

Obi-Wan refused to look away, but he crooked an eyebrow at her. Dropping his wrist in disgust, she stalked away. Gently, Obi-Wan rubbed his fingers over his wrist, deliberately not looking back to the writing, what he could now recognize as a rather nasty Sith trap. That he couldn’t feel the Darkness oozing from the walls before now was...rather disturbing, to be honest.

Ahead, Anakin stopped, raising his lightsaber, and Obi-Wan was moving towards him before Anakin even called, feeling like he was walking on more eggshells than a geejaw nest. As if navigating the possible Sith traps before them wasn’t bad enough, Anakin had been oddly quiet since they had entered the corridor, and only made worse when whatever it was had given Leia quite a shock. To have Ventress watching his back as well--it was making him rather jumpy. 

But there was no time to hash it out now; the corridor was only so long, and they had made it, at last to the darkened doorway to Dooku’s secret workshop. 

“Well,” Obi-Wan said. “At least you won’t need to open this door as well, Anakin.” 

Anakin looked over, but didn’t rise to the bait. In the sharp light of his saber, his skin looked deathly pale and his eyes sunken. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and chased the image away. “What can you sense?” 

“Nothing,” Anakin said, and shivered. “I don’t like it. It feels like a trap.” 

Obi-Wan sighed. “Then it probably is a trap.” He looked up, seeing Luke, Leia, and Ventress join them. “Something in that room is blocking our ability to sense what is within. When we enter, we may be completely Force blind.” 

Luke and Leia both nodded, eerily in sync, and Ventress merely glared, though Obi-Wan expected little different. 

“So what’s the plan?” Leia asked, and Obi-Wan ignored it when Anakin snorted in fatalistic amusement to focus on her. 

“It’s quite simple,” he said. “We walk through the door.” 

Leia blinked at him, then looked at Luke, who raised his hands as if absolving himself of blame, and then at Ventress, who rolled her eyes. Really. Obi-Wan crossed his arms. 

“Do you have a problem with the plan?” 

“I’d hardly call that a plan,” Leia said, looking between him and Anakin. “Are all your strategies just ‘walk into danger and hope for the best?’” 

“Basically,” Anakin said, before Obi-Wan could answer. “It’s worked so far.” 

Leia narrowed her eyes, “You—” she managed, before she stopped herself and took a deep breath. “I don’t know why I bother.” She gestured with her hand. “After you.” 

Obi-Wan bowed slightly to her, and turned to Anakin. “Would you care to do the honors?” 

“Oh no, Obi-Wan, I couldn’t possibly. After you.” 

“Oh, but I insist!” 

“Age before beauty,” Anakin said, grinning. 

“Skill before luck,” Obi-Wan snapped, and stepped through the door. 

It was like stepping off the edge of the world. 

In the course of his life, on the many and varied missions Obi-Wan had undertaken that had gone, for a while, horribly wrong, he had worn Force-dampening collars, and been subjected to various poisons that blocked his connection to the Light. These instances had been instructive in Obi-Wan’s self-reliance and ability to keep his wits, as well as to his own reactions under pressure--and were, therefore, not forgotten, per say, but regulated to the same part of his memory as were his first saber lessons where his partner’s skill far outshined his own, or where his failure had taught more than his success. 

And still, with all of that, Obi-Wan’s first reaction was blind panic. 

Stock still, Obi-Wan fought to calm himself even as he felt trapped in the confines of his own skin, and it was several minutes before he was able to recognize that the lights in the room had been growing steadily brighter at his presence. 

Movement to his right, and Obi-Wan turned his head to see Anakin step up next to him, pale to the point of looking green, his eyes wider than Obi-Wan had ever seen them. Anakin, too, had his own experiences with the collars and the drugs, but Obi-Wan always suspected that the strength of Anakin’s connection to the Force kept them from being one-hundred percent effective. 

As always, it was his concern for Anakin that allowed Obi-Wan to calm the rest of the way; Anakin needed Obi-Wan to be calm, so Obi-Wan would _be_ calm. 

Reaching out, Obi-Wan gently squeezed Anakin’s shoulder, and Anakin shot him a shaky smile before his eyes darted away to take in the rest of the room. 

Now that he could see, Obi-Wan did the same, noticing with a small pang that Dooku’s private workshop looked a lot like the workspace in the Temple Library, down to the tanks on the far wall that held golden lizards, about fifty centimeters long. There were three of them, watching idly with their four eyes. 

Coming up on Obi-Wan’s right, Luke said, “Oh,” and then inexplicably sighed. “Ysalamiri.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin exchanged a look. “Come again?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“Ysalamiri,” Luke repeated. “They’re from Mykr. One of the predators there hunt with the Force, so the ysalamiri have evolved the ability to emit a sort of Force-null bubble. It’s highly effective,” he offered, and then made a face. “But they are a pain, especially when there’s more than one. It amplifies the bubble.” 

“Great,” Anakin drawled, walking forward. His movements were off, stiff and a bit jerky, as if he no longer was sure where his body ended. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he would fair much better, so, for the moment, he stayed where he was.

“I’ve never heard of ysalamiri before,” Obi-Wan said, though that wasn’t surprising. He’d never been to Mykr himself, and it wasn’t a planet of which he could remember Qui-Gon speaking. 

“Neither had I,” Luke offered. “But I ran into a nest of them soon after I was Knighted.” He paused, like he was going to say more, but fell silent instead, glancing quickly at his sister before moving to the raised table in the center of the room. Leia, for all that Obi-Wan could tell, had either not noticed, or was refusing to acknowledge whatever slight Luke had been about to make. Clearly, there was a story there, and if he had time, Obi-Wan wanted to know what it was.

“I don’t think their abilities are widely known,” Anakin said, peering closer at one though the glass. His forehead was beginning to perspire from the strain. “Or we would have seen more of them before now. They’d make good anti-Jedi weapons for the Separatists.” 

“Except that the Separatists were being lead by a Sith,” Obi-Wan said. “While I’m sure they served a purpose here, I very much doubt that Dooku would employ a weapon that would also leave _him_ at a disadvantage.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone more concerned with power than anything else developed a weapon they couldn’t actually control,” Leia said, lowering the blaster on it’s strap so it hung low against her back. “Or that they would come to rely to upon far too much.” 

Luke waved a hand over a paper journal on the table. “I dunno. This Dooku didn’t strike me as a Death Star type.” 

_Death Star?_ Obi-Wan didn’t like the sound of that. 

“No,” Leia conceded. “But his Master is.” 

Anakin spun, crossing quickly to Leia--and stopping short when Leia stuttered back a step. Glancing quickly at Obi-Wan in confusion, as if he forgot how tall and imposing he could be when he wasn’t thinking, Anakin licked his lower lip in hesitation. “You--you know who the Sith Master is?” 

Leia frowned at him. “Of course I know. You don’t—” she cut herself off, to look at Luke. “Everything you said, you didn’t tell them that?” 

Luke shrugged. “I ran out of time. I was kidnapped, you know.” Then, he _lifted a Sith Holocron._ “Is this what I think it is?” 

“Don’t touch it!” Obi-Wan snapped, even as Anakin spun, as if he would physically knock it from Luke’s hand. Eyebrows raised, Luke lowered the Holocron back to the table. 

“It’s Zannah’s, isn’t it?” he said, as if he hadn’t just touched a Sith Holocron without the protections of the Force. He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “He really did pull out all the stops for this, if he was willing to contact her.” 

Yes, because _that_ was the most disturbing part of all of this. 

“We should leave,” Anakin said, echoing Obi-Wan’s thoughts. “Gather what we can, and get back to the ship.” 

Obi-Wan nodded. He was better now that he had some time to adjust, but he’d much rather be back where he could _feel._

Luke twisted his cloak, creating a sling that he held in his flesh hand, and quickly tossed in things from the table, touching them as briefly as possible. There was the paper journal and Zannah’s holocron and sheets of flimsiplast and datacards. Leia pulled a datapadd from her pocket, a smaller and sleeker model than Obi-Wan had ever seen, and began to take holos of the room, paying special attention to the table. Soon, Luke had gathered everything and Leia was tucking the padd away, leading them back out into the corridor, blaster once again held at the ready. 

Obi-Wan staggered a bit when he walked back through the doorway, the world coming back in a welcome rush--even the Darkness that pulsed at the edges of his senses was preferable to that sickening void. Anakin was last through, coughing as the Force returned to him, though he waved off Obi-Wan’s concern. 

Ventress was standing in the middle of the hall, ‘saber lit, but her stance was casual, unthreatening. Obi-Wan didn’t blame her; he wouldn’t want to stand in this darkness alone, either. 

“Have fun?” she sneered. 

“How could we, without your shining presence?” Obi-Wan said, forcing himself to smile, and Ventress hissed. 

“If you can flirt, we can leave,” Anakin said, brushing past. “Ahsoka is waiting for us.” 

One by one they filed past, following Anakin back out of the secret corridor into the hallway. Once again, Obi-Wan followed up behind, and kept his eyes forward, ignoring the sense that there was something behind him, watching. 

***

Ahsoka sat in the pilot’s seat, slumped down with her boots braced against the console, idly scraping her thumbnail across her bottom teeth as she watched the door to the landing bay. Next to her Artoo whined softly. 

“I hear ya, Artooey,” Ahsoka said, quietly. “The sooner they’re back, the better.” 

But a watched kettle never boils, and the longer Ahsoka watched, the less sure she was that anything would happen. Up above, the Wolfpack circled, and Ahsoka was just about to comm to tell them to land--who knew how long this would take--when the doors opened and Ahsoka’s boots hit the deck quick. 

Her Master led the way, his tall form upright and assured, and Ahsoka felt herself breathe a little easier. Behind him, were two strangers--one must be their missing Master Skywalker. She could feel his Force presence from here, warm like Skyguy’s, but more like Master Yoda’s. He was shorter than she expected, and he was mostly hidden in the folds of his cloak. 

Next to him walked a human woman, older than her master, judging by the grey in her hair, and shorter, even than Senator Amidala. She was carrying a clanker’s blaster and walked like a soldier, and there was _something_ familiar about her that made Ahsoka like her immediately. 

Behind them was—

_Asajj Ventress??_

The Sith Assassin was walking unfettered, still in possession of her lightsabers, and it was enough to propel Ahsoka out of her chair, racing towards the hatch. She flicked her hand at the manual control, lowering the ramp so she could run out and land on the platform just as it touched down behind her. 

Arms on her hips, Ahsoka glared at Anakin. “What the hell, Skyguy?!” 

Anakin smiled tiredly at her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders even as he guided her back up the ramp. “Hey, Snips. Good to see you.” 

“Good to see you, too, now answer my question!” 

Obi-Wan coughed from the rear of their group, where he stood with Waxer and Boil. “Ventress has agreed to come with us, of her own free will.” 

Ahsoka stepped back, when Anakin let her go to head to the cockpit, and watched them all board. The woman gave a double take when she saw Ahsoka, which was a bit puzzling. Ahsoka wasn’t the only Torguta Jedi, after all. 

“And Dooku?” she asked. 

“Dead,” Ventress hissed through her teeth, and then dropped to a seat, strapping herself in for launch. 

“Dead?” Ahoska asked. Of all the outcomes, she had never actually considered that Dooku would die. 

After a moment, she frowned. “Does this mean the war is over?” 

The small woman snorted. “War is never over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](scarletjedi.tumblr.com)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to hobbitystmarymorstan for being a patient beta!

Things were quiet on the way back to the rendezvous point. There were questions, how could there not be, after the events and revelations of the past few days, but nobody seemed willing to voice them. Anakin had remained in the cockpit, although they had been free to move about for some time, and Ashoka had rolled her eyes at Obi-Wan before going to prod Anakin into joining them. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he wanted her to succeed.

Waxer and Boil stayed near Ventress, standing guard while not truly standing guard. Ventress seemed all too aware of it, and was sitting, arms and legs crossed in an impressive impersonation of a sulk. (Obi-Wan would never be so crass as to actually _call_ it a sulk — not unless he wanted to goad her into a fight).

Leia and Luke sat close together, each leaning in towards the other and pressed from shoulder to knee. Leia’s blaster lay carefully across her lap, in a way that seemed casual unless you knew how quickly she could bring it to bear. Luke’s lightsaber was once again at his hip, hidden like his cache of pilfered dark objects by the fold of his cloak. (Obi-Wan’s mind recoiled from the thought of them, a knee-jerk reaction to their seductive whispers. That Luke appeared unaffected by their presence and proximity was something to watch). Luke’s flesh hand, however, was visible as it lay atop Leia’s. A casual affection, to be sure, but one that spoke volumes about _attachment_.

Obi-Wan watched them as unobtrusively as he could, seemingly focused on the decking in front of him, his fingers slowly stroking his beard as if in thought, as Leia slowly let her head rest on Luke’s shoulder. Luke turned into it, pressing his cheek against her braids for a moment before settling his head to lean on hers.

Perhaps _casual_ wasn’t the correct word. _Effortless_. Yes, the affection between them was _effortless_ , and the Force around them fairly radiated with love and warmth and light.

A flash of something like blue light flickered in the corner of Obi-Wan’s vision, but when he turned to look, there was nothing there. There was no reason for Obi-Wan’s heart to be pounding, or for that familiar band of pressure around his head to be increasing. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, pushing it all away and locking it down tightly until he could meditate and release it into the Force, ignoring the voice that sounded so much like Anakin’s that commented on just how _large_ that particular cache was.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes, he saw Luke watching him, expression serene but eyes warm and understanding. He smiled, wry, and Obi-Wan found himself nodding back, and used it as an opportunity to watch Anakin’s children openly.

Anakin’s children.

“You need a bath,” Leia mumbled, seemingly from nowhere, and Luke began to laugh, his smile spreading over his face — Padme’s smile. Oh, and there was the other credit dropping. Padme and Anakin. Obi-Wan had never been blind to Anakin’s...connection to Senator Amidala; it had reminded him of his own connection to Satine.

His love for her.

Anakin hid many things well, but the way he light up when Padme entered the room had never been one of them. No, it was no great surprise that Luke and Leia’s mother was Padme. Obi-Wan just hoped that they would be smart about it, and would save anything too monumental, like the twins sitting before him, until _after_ the war.

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to cover his eyes with his hand; of course they wouldn’t. This was _Anakin_ and _Padme_.

Well, there would be no hiding it once they reached Coruscant. Perhaps he’d better tell Anakin to comm Padme and warn her. He smoothed his hand over his beard. Perhaps he’d better do it himself.

Either way, he had to inform the council of their success. Unstrapping himself, Obi-Wan bowed his head to the siblings, and escaped into the cockpit himself.

Obi-Wan didn’t flop into his chair at the navcomputer, the way Anakin had been known to do (Obi-Wan would, of course, never admit to such theatrics in front of his former padawan: Anakin never needed encouragement), but it was a near thing.

“Everything all right, Master Obi-Wan?” Ahsoka asked, and Obi-Wan nodded.

“Quite alright,” Obi-Wan said. “I simply need to update the Council.” He didn’t move, however, and Anakin looked at him over his shoulder.

“You know,” he said. “We’re going to rendezvous in a few hours. It can wait until we’re back with the ship.”

Obi-Wan hummed, continuing to stare at the panel.

Ahsoka looked between the two of them. “Is anybody going to tell _me_ what’s going on?”

And wasn’t that the question. Obi-Wan wanted to fill her in, of course he did, but so much was riding on what the Council would say—

“Dooku did some Sith magic and pulled my children back in time from the future.”

Everything stopped as Obi-Wan and Ahsoka both turned to look at Anakin.

“...what?” Ahsoka said weakly.

* * *

Luke pressed his face to Leia’s hair, breathing in the familiar scents of blasterfire and Alderaanian Elderflower and underneath it all, pure _sister_ that he would know anywhere. He had forgotten the depth of his missing her until he had felt her again; he had heard of missing someone like a limb, but this went so much further — he had lost a limb. He would know.

“Where did you go?” Leia asked, her voice pitched low, meant for just the two of them. “I looked and looked for you for _years_ and couldn’t find you.”

Luke was quiet for a moment, pulling her closer in apology. “After,” he began, and his voice was rough and coarse. He cleared his throat, but didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. It hung in the air between them. “I went looking for answers. Yoda told me to pass on what I had learned, and I tried, but...Jedi were trained for over a thousand years with no problems. Obviously, for me to fail so spectacularly, I must have been doing something wrong.”

Leia — sweet, stubborn Leia — was already shaking her head. “ _You_ didn’t fail. It wasn’t you. It was Snoke—”

“This time,” Luke said, voice firm. “Before Snoke it was Palpatine, and before him it was another. The voice, the call to the dark – it’s always there. You and I, we know how to not listen, to say no, but not everybody knows how.” Luke sighed. “Or even wants to.”

Luke sniffed, shifting in his seat; it had been a long time since he’d sat still for so long. As age and old wounds and the damp had crept up on him, he had slowly moved away from the traditional seated meditation poses that would leave him stiff and aching for hours after. Sitting here on this ship, especially after the fight with Dooku, Luke felt every day of his age.

Leia squeezed his hand, and Luke felt a warm rush, like hot cocoa on a cold day, seeping through his limbs and squeezed her fingers gently in return, thanking her: Leia’s skills were not as developed as Luke’s, having too many other responsibilities and demands on her time, but her strength rivaled his own, and it was always easier for her, between them.

“I went searching for answers, convinced that I had missed something. I thought, what better place to start than the beginning – so I went looking for the First Temple.” He closed his eyes, thinking back as he opened his mind to Leia, sharing the memory.

* * *

_”It’s protected. The whole planet itself is charged with keeping the Temple safe from those who would do it harm. It’s not the first time I’ve visited a Temple that had gained a sense of autonomous self, and certainly not the first time the Temples had treated me as an outsider.”_

_“So you crashed.”_

_“Who’s telling this story?”_

 

Luke narrowed his eyes at the display readings of his X-Wing, and tapped the screen with his gloved finger. It wasn’t actually surprising that an X-Wing that had flown against the Death Star would, by this point, have developed a few quirks so much as it was surprising that it still _ran_ , but Luke was a child of the desert, and knew how to make his tech last and last. It felt wasteful to retire a ship that still flew just because it had a few decades under its belt, and besides: working on the ship had always been Luke’s favorite moving meditation.

Still, the ship’s personality was quite like Artoo’s – again, not surprising when Luke thought about it, but Artoo wasn’t here and Luke _was_ so he needed the display to show him _actual useful information_ such as – any detail about the planet before him.

His scanner registered only empty space.

It had to be a glitch, however, as his scanner also showed massive life sign readings, much like Dagobah. There was _something_ there, and as much as Luke had finally learned not to trust his eyes (it was his eyes that had gotten him into his mess; what he had seen that had guided his actions so foolishly), it looked like he would have to go down manually.

“Well, Skywalker, you’ve come this far,” Luke said to himself, and guided the ship towards the planet’s surface.

Luke hit issues the moment he entered the atmosphere. His ship was blind, and he’d somehow managed to enter a surprisingly dense cloudbank.

“Just like Dagobah,” he spat between clenched teeth, and swore to himself when he realized. Of course – there was a reason his mind kept returning to that swamp. Taking a deep breath despite the rocking of his ship, Luke closed his eyes and reached out with the Force.

Immediately, the turbulence subsided, and the warning klaxons died away. Before him, the planet teemed with life, glowing in his mind like a star. Almost like a negative image, Luke could “see” the outlines of the world’s immense oceans, the way the water rippled with life both small and immense – bigger than the krayt dragons of his youth, or the sandworms of legend, and the brightest point, dead ahead.

Luke opened his eyes to see himself skimming across the top of the water, sometimes mere inches from the waves. The sun turned the sky a pale blue to counter the deeper color of the water beneath him, the ocean vast and filling the horizon in all directions.

All, save for one, a tiny spot in the distance that was growing closer – a landmass, of some kind. As they approached, Luke could see that it wasn’t a very large mass, about the size of the Massassi temple on Yavin 4, all told, and rocky. That could make it difficult to land, but Luke had landed his X-Wing on dune sand and swampland – he could find a place to land on this island.

It wasn’t until he was nearly there that he felt the darkness at the heart of it.

_”Was no place spared?”_

_“I asked myself the same thing,” Luke said, “but made no progress until I realized that I was asking the wrong question.”_

There was a thin strip of flat land just at the base of the island: he hesitated to call it a beach, as it was more of a cliff-side with a sheer, dropped edge, but it was the closest thing this island had.

Sitting for a minute in the cockpit of his cooling fighter, he listened to the ebb and flow of the Force around him, so much like the current of the waves. Luke wondered if the Force acted differently in different climates; he never remembered this feeling of push and pull when he was on Tatooine, even when he returned to his home planet more in tune with the whispering of the Force, and it had just rained enough to be dangerous. Instead, the Force there blew like the wind: sometimes cool and gentle against your sweat-drenched skin, and sometimes cutting and stinging and _lethal_ like a sandstorm.

Something tapped on the side of his ship, and Luke jumped, twisting in his seat to peer out of the viewscreen. 

Collected on the shore, staring up at his ship in confusion, were three aliens of a type Luke had never seen before. They were dressed in simple shifts of unbleached fabric, with white cloths covering their heads. Some had stone or bone pendants around their necks, and all of them stared up at him curiously. 

Or perhaps it was crossly. One was staring at Luke in a way that he hadn’t seen since Aunt Beru, and he had a feeling that perhaps this wasn’t the best place to land. It was, however, the only place to land. 

_Nothing for it,_ Luke thought, and popped open the cockpit. 

The ocean was loud, louder than he had expected as the waves crashed and echoed against the rocky cliffs, but Luke climbled from his X-Wing all the same. He moved slowly — he had managed to wash the soot from his skin and change into clothing that wasn’t charred, but the smell of smoke had followed him through his flight, and not even Luke Skywalker could survive a building falling on his head without lingering bruises and stiffness. (It was worse than that, he knew — he’d been in and out of medcenters too much in his life to not know when he was worse off than he should have been, but there was nothing for it. He couldn’t go to a medcenter, and had spent most of the hyperspace flight in a healing trance. It would have to do). 

Luke landed lightly on his feet, leaning heavily on the Force, and the aliens backed away a step, turning and chattering to each other. Luke watched them, hands empty and open, waiting. 

Finally, one of the aliens, whose head scarf was taller, whose dress was darker, whose pendant was bigger, stepped forward, and held her own hand out, palm up. 

In the air, just above the center of her palm, grew a bright spark of light, like a miniature twinkling star, and Luke felt his breath catch as the sheer beauty of it, of the way the Force _sang_ in racing harmony, and when it faded, at last, Luke realized he was crying. 

The aliens — caretakers, he knew now — watched him expectantly. 

Letting the tears fall as they will, Luke closed his eyes and held out his own hand, his left, and pictured the way the Force had shined and danced, and when he opened his eyes, that same star danced in his palm. 

The caretakers were chattering among themselves once more, but Luke wasn’t concerned. He’d never felt so grounded in the Force before. 

The head caretaker gestured Luke forward, and he left the star fade; now that he’d done it, he could always call it up again. Following closely, Luke climbed the long and winding stair. It was treacherous — the stairs were steep, wet and covered in slippery moss and lichen, and in places crumbling. Still, Luke followed the sure-footed caretaker up and up and up. 

(A voice in the back of his mind, one that was always creaking and confused in its grammar, found this entire situation amusing, and Luke’s ego was too bruised to not feel humbled. At nearly fifty years standard, Luke once more felt like a learner. _How could you think to teach, if you know so little?,_ another voice asked, this one sounding too much like his own damn self, and Luke forced his attention outward.) 

The top of the stairs opened to a small bluff — one that Luke was surprised he hadn’t seen. It would have been a much better place to land his X-Wing, after all, but then again, there was a clear reason _why,_ he hadn’t noticed it at the far end of the bluff: the entrance to the Temple proper. 

The head caretaker stopped at the doorway, gesturing for Luke to go through. He paused on the doorway, bowing to her in thanks, and after a moment, she nodded back to him. 

Luke faced the doorway, centered himself in the Force, and stepped through. 

_”What did you find there?”_

_”Balance.”_

* * *

“Hey.” 

Ventress kicked out, the toe of her boot just grazing Luke’s ankle. It made her guard dogs twitchy, but Ventress didn’t care. The Force was doing something weird with those two, something beyond whatever it was that they had taken from Dooku’s private lab. It had to stop. Ventress was only there because of them — she wasn’t about to be left with the rest of these _Jedi_ without them.

After a moment, Luke raised his head, blinking as he focused on Ventress. (Ventress’s scowl nearly dropped as, for a brief moment, Luke’s eyes seemed to shine with some blue-white inner light. She’d seen the sick-yellow glow of Dooku’s eyes many times, but she had never seen a Jedi’s eyes glow before). 

Luke smiled, just enough to make his beard twitch, and Ventress’s scowl deepened. Just who _was_ this guy, that he earned her trust so quickly? 

Off balance, Ventress blurted the first thing she thought of. “I thought you said you were Jedi.” 

“I am,” Luke said, and his grin grew. “Master Yoda even said so.” 

That...was an odd way to phrase it. She narrowed her eyes. “I’ve met many Jedi, and none of them were quite like you two.” 

Luke nodded. “I’ve heard that before, too.” 

Ventress turned to Leia, who snorted, folding her arms. “I never claimed to be a Jedi,” she said, her voice dry as desert dust, but no other information was forthcoming. She, Luke’s sister, was harder to read. It was clear that she was stronger in the Force than she admitted to, and she had obviously been trained in the mental arts of the Jedi...yet even as she resonated with the peace of the light, there were shadows lurking. 

And yet, for some reason, Ventress didn’t think she was close to falling. She sat back in her seat, seeing the clones exchange a look out of the corner of her eye. So, they hadn’t expected that response either. Interesting. 

Before she could think of a good response, the door to the front cabin opened, and Kenobi came back through. He was as buttoned up and calm as ever, but there was something, some little thing, that made Ventress think it was all a front. 

Kenobi, unlike Leia, was always flirting with falling. It was part of what made their confrontations over the years so exciting. 

He looked over the room, taking in everything with a glance, and said only, “We’re nearly at the rendezvous,” and sat, pulling out his datapad.

* * *

“...did you say your _children?_ ” Ahsoka asked, looking back at Master Obi-Wan. He didn’t seem nearly as surprised as Ahsoka felt. In fact, she wouldn't say he looked surprised at all. “Master Obi-Wan, you knew.” 

Even Anakin turned to look at Master Obi-Wan then, and he sighed, turning away from the console. 

“Before we left on this mission, Kix approached me with some of Luke’s tests. They revealed a few...inconsistencies in his story. Namely, that he was not a distant relative of Anakin’s but rather an offspring.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve known about his relationship for much longer.” 

Anakin turned his face away, and Ahsoka repeated to herself, “...relationship,” as her mind spun. The answer came to her quickly, with the kind of absolute assurance that she had rarely felt. “It’s Padme, isn’t it,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?” After everything they had been through, she’d thought he trusted her!

Anakin still wouldn't look at her. “I don’t want you to have to lie to the council, Snips,” he said. “I remember what it’s like, to have to stand before them and lie through my teeth, knowing that they already didn’t approve of me, but that to tell the truth would be so much _worse_ —”

Master Obi-Wan sat up straight. “Now, hold on,” he said, but Anakin shook his head, finally turning to look at them, but glaring at Mater Obi-Wan. 

“No,” Anakin insisted. “I know when people don’t like me, Obi-Wan. I’m not blind; I could never afford to be blind. They’ve never liked me. Some of them are afraid of me, others disappointed that I’m not what they expected. I have _no_ idea why Master Mace hates me so much—” 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Obi-Wan broke in. “Neither do Ki Adi Mundi, or Plo, or Adi, or Kit. The others, well, even _I <_ don’t always get on with the others.” 

Anakin rolled his eyes. “If you say so,” he said. “But promise me, when we go in there and introduce them to my _children_ , to pay attention to how they talk to me.” 

Master Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then paused, nodding his head. “I will,” he promised, quietly.

Ahsoka chewed gently on her thumb as she looked between her master and grandmaster. There was clearly something deeper here, something old that had been ignored for too long, but she had no idea how to address it. 

So, she changed the subject. “But...they’re so much _older_ than you!” 

Anakin blinked at her, and then broke into soft laughter. “I know, right?” he said. “They’re even older than Obi-Wan.” 

“Hey!” Obi-Wan protested. “I am not _old_.” 

“I didn’t say that!”

“You implied it!” 

Ahsoka hid a smile behind her hand. If they could bicker like this, then they’d be okay.

* * *

Lightyears away, in the darkness of his private quarters, the Sith Lord listened to the ripples of the Force, and raged. 

All his careful planning, decades of waiting for the right moment, whispering in the right ears, being there at the right moment to size his chances — all of that, threatened in a matter of minutes because of the treachery of his own apprentice. 

There was no room for pride in one’s apprentice, so he felt no pride that Darth Tyrannus had tried to overthrow him, only disgust that he had failed. (Of course he had failed; felling Jedi was a difficult shortcut to power — once fallen, they required less training, but they never truly stopped thinking like _Jedi_.

Sidious clenched his fist, twisting the threads of the Force to see further, to see more clearly, and saw, as he had for the last twenty years, only the figure of Anakin Skywalker. 

Perhaps, this was not the setback it could have been. Sidious had not gotten as far as he had by not turning the unexpected to his favor. 

After all, the Chosen One was still there, ripe for the plucking. 

And Sidious was never one to miss an opportunity. 

On his desk, his intercom buzzed. “Excuse me, Chancellor. Senator Amidala is here to see you.” 

“Ah,” Chancellor Palpatine said. “Thank you. Send her in, please. I’ve much to discuss with the Senator.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back! I'm sorry this chapter took so long to get out, and unfortunately, it may be a little while before the next one, too. I can't really dedicate the time I'd like until the end of the semester, but! We're rapidly approaching the crux of this story! Things are getting exciting!
> 
> Many thanks to hobbitystmarymorstan for the lovely beta work!

Obi-Wan rubbed a hand over his face. The vaguely electrified feeling that had settled under his skin still hadn’t dissipated, but it had calmed once he and Anakin had spoken openly about Anakin’s relationship with Padme. He knew he still didn’t have the whole story, but he pushed that concern aside, for now. He was a Jedi. He could be patient. There would be time enough for those questions _after_. 

“You may wish to call her,” Obi-Wan said, softly. “She may need to prepare herself.” 

Anakin nodded, but didn’t reach for the comm controls just yet. Obi-Wan stood, ignoring the way his knees and hips protested. They were minor aches, the testament to the near non-stop fighting of the past few years, and Obi-Wan found himself as frustrated with them as he was calmed; He’d lived long enough to be pained by age. 

“Come on, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan urged, gently. “Let’s leave Anakin to his call.” 

Anakin turned to him, the wry amusement on his face not quite fully covering the fear that lurked beneath. “Oh, I see. Abandon me to my fate.” 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “She’s your...” he trailed off, unsure of just what her title would be. “Senator.” 

Anakin closed his eyes, his mouth still twisted in a smile that looked more pained, now. “Wife,” he whispered. “She’s my wife.” 

Oh. 

Oh, well. 

“Then I would hope you knew what you were getting into when you married her,” Obi-Wan said. When did they get married? They hadn’t spent much time with her since the Clone Wars began, and certainly Obi-Wan never noticed his Padawan turned partner act like a newlywed. ( _“How would **you** know; the Jedi don’t marry,”_ an achingly familiar voice said faintly in the back of his mind. _”and you know nothing of Tatooine marriage customs.”_

Obi-Wan waved the thoughts away, and ducked back out into the main room. 

Obi-Wan stood just to the left of the closed door, hand stroking his beard at the sight of those assembled. It took all of his focus to keep his hands steady, to keep himself from picking at his fingers, or gnawing at his nails. They were old habits, and he didn’t need them. Steeling himself, he forced himself walk forward as if he wasn’t still quietly reeling. 

The scene before him hadn’t changed all that much; Asajj Ventress still sat scowling in her seat like a chastised Padawan, and the adult twinned children of Anakin Skywalker sat next to her.

Luke sat much as he had before, as he had since he had first come to Obi-Wan’s attention little more than a day ago, calmly, with no outward signs of concern, and reminding Obi-Wan uncomfortably of his own master. Leia had leaned back, her arms crossed and her expression sardonic. She, too, was apparently unconcerned, if outwardly exasperated, and Obi-Wan knew that if hadn’t already been told, he would be able to see the resemblance between father and daughter in a heartbeat.

Still, Obi-Wan had the distinct and uncomfortable sensation of not quite living up to her expectations — which was ridiculous, frankly. What possible expectations could she have of him?

They all looked to him when he re-entered the room, so Obi-Wan made himself speak. “We’re nearly to the rendezvous.” He sat, pulling out a datapad and turning it on, though he couldn’t quite seem to focus on the screen. A moment later, Ahsoka came back into the main bay, and perhaps because Obi-Wan couldn’t pay attention to what was before him, he noticed Leia react to Ahsoka. 

It was subtle, an involuntary twitch that Leia covered smoothly enough that not even Ahsoka noticed her mild alarm. No, not alarm: _recognition_ , and yet there was no such moment from Luke. Perhaps he was just more like their mother, and was simply better at hiding it. Obi-Wan doubted that, however. 

Hadn’t Luke said he raised on Tatooine? He certainly knew the desert customs and had hinted at knowing of Shmi Skywalker.

So, in whatever future, Leia knows Ahsoka. Why wouldn’t Luke know his father’s first padawan? It was clear that Luke and Leia both knew Anakin, but why would only Leia know Ahsoka?

At the moment, Ahsoka was standing in front of the twins, frowning as she studied them. Then, she sat next to Leia. Leia smiled at her.

“Thank you,” Leia said quietly, addressing Ahsoka first before looking up to include Obi-Wan and Anakin, who had appeared to hover in the doorway. “For coming after us.” 

“We had to,” Anakin drawled. He was smirking, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. “You left us with too many unanswered questions.” 

Luke looked over at him, raising a single eyebrow. “You just want to see Yoda react to me.” 

“Well, sure,” Anakin said, crossing his arms. “It’s about time he picked on somebody else.” 

Obi-Wan sighed. “Anakin—”

“I know, I know,” Anakin said, rolling his eyes. “Yoda doesn’t hate me, hate is of the dark side, blah blah blah.” His tone was careless, but there was a shadow of real hurt in the way his shoulders rose as he waved his hand. Surely, Anakin didn’t believe the Grandmaster of their order, the founder of his own lineage, would have such negative feelings towards him?

Ahsoka giggled “He just hates that you cause him extra paperwork,” she said, and Anakin cocked his head, agreeing — though Obi-Wan thought it was mostly to let the subject drop. 

How often had Anakin done that? How much had Obi-Wan missed because he had _assumed_? 

He didn’t have long to dwell in his thoughts, as they were interrupted by a rather theatrical sound of disgust. “Please, spare me,” Ventress sneered. “It’s bad enough that I have to be trapped here with you idiots without you forcing me to bear witness to this...saccharine display.” 

“Apologies, my dear,” Obi-Wan said, placing a hand on his breast. “It was not our intention to make you uncomfortable.” 

“Darling,” Ventress said, bearing her teeth. “Eat shit.” 

Luke laughed out loud, the sound clear and boyish, a near direct contrast to the husk in his voice. Leia didn’t seem to care to bother to suppress a smile, though Ahsoka was staring determinedly at the floor, trying to hide her own amusement. Anakin seemed to be generally unhappy, but that was usually the case with Ventress. 

Obi-Wan merely raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been in the field for several months, now. I guarantee you, I’ve eaten worse.” 

Waxer snorted a laugh, stifling it quickly, but Obi-Wan was happy to feel amusement from both troopers. Goodness knew that Boil was more often than not in a dour mood. 

“They’re even worse when they’re twenty years old,” Leia said, leaned back in her seat watching Obi-Wan through slitted eyes. “Or fifty.” Obi-Wan couldn’t hide the disgust he felt: Sure, the rations were designed to last, and fifty years was still within their shelf life — but _still!_

“Can’t be worse than gravel-maggots,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan shuddered, involuntarily. It wasn’t that Obi-Wan hadn’t eaten bugs before, to survive, but Anakin took the practice to a higher, more cavalier level. Even Ahsoka turned her nose up at the gravel-maggots, however.

“Or womp-rat,” Luke said, and that managed to get a second look from Ventress. 

“Aren’t womp-rats diseased?” 

Luke nodded. “Some of them.” He shrugged. “A lot of ‘em. But they’re also about two-meters long, and that’s a lot of meat.” He looked over at Anakin. “And the maggots aren’t so bad, if they’re cooked right,” Luke said. “But the spices offworld...” He trailed off, and Anakin nodded in sage agreement. 

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. He’d tasted food Anakin deemed “acceptable,” and the last time had nearly seared the flesh from his tongue. 

Ahsoka turned to Leia, her expression troubled as she asked: “What did you mean, ‘war never ends?’ Of course the war will end; that’s why we’re all fighting.” 

Well, that got everyone’s attention. Leia’s smile was sad. 

“Battles end,” Leia said, “only to be replaced by another conflict and another. Those with power declare wars over, only the reasons for the next battle are still the same.” There was pain in her voice, and a kind of exhaustion that spoke of decades of conflict. Obi-Wan felt a chill at her words: how long could any war last? She went on, covering Ahsoka’s hand with her own, her manner strangely maternal. “In my lifetime, I have lived through the rise of two empires and a fall of one. I hope to see the fall of the other before I die. None of this has been peaceful.” 

Ahsoka frowned down at the hand on hers, though she didn’t let go. “That doesn’t sound like a very Jedi thing to say.” 

Leia raised her eyebrow, but there was affection behind her eyes. “As I said before,” she said, indicating Ventress with a tilt of her head. “I’m not a Jedi.” 

“But you have Jedi training,” Ahsoka insisted. Out of the corner of his eye, Anakin shifted, but Obi-Wan did not yet want to look away. 

“I have been trained in the Force,” Leia admitted, “but I don’t follow the tenets of the Jedi Order.” 

Ahsoka shook her head. “How?” 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, but was beat to it by Ventress, once again surprising him. Idly, Obi-Wan thought that, once day, he would have to stop being surprised by her; it could be deadly if she decided to turn against them once more. 

“The Jedi are not the only Force wielders in the galaxy to use the Light Side,” Ventress said, her tone surprisingly patient, and was rewarded with Ahsoka’s frank curiosity. “Just as the Sith are not the only order to use the Dark.” She smirked, and Obi-Wan swore it was directed at him. “Neither likes to admit that, however.”

Obi-Wan found himself huffing a soft laugh in agreement. The Jedi knew about others who worked in the Light, and kept track of them, though the attitude tended more towards custodial than fraternal: The Guardians on Jedha, for example, were far more than the secular order the Jedi seemed to view them as. He had seen as much as a Padawan, when he and Qui-Gon had spent several months with them, trolling through their archives. 

As always, the thought of Qui-Gon panged, a small yet sharp pain in his heart, and for a moment — the briefest of flashes — he saw him, looking as he had the last time Obi-Wan had seen him and ringed in blue light. There was an unfathomable longing on his face, but the second Obi-Wan saw him, he disappeared, like he was never there. 

He was shaken enough that he remained quiet for the rest of the trip.

* * *

Their arrival at the rendezvous was both anti-climactic and – oddly – like returning home. Unlike Leia, Luke hadn’t spent much of the last few years living ship-to-ship, recruiting and acting as ambassador for the Resistance. He was out of practice.

He was also grateful that they couldn’t see when they entered the landing bay. Before the other day, it had been decades since he had last been on a Star Destroyer, and as tired as he was, he wasn’t sure how he would react.

It was bad enough when they disembarked, and Luke found himself in the hangar, surrounded by the clones in their white armor. Next to him, Leia was relaxed in posture, but her shields were up so tightly she was barely a presence in the Force. At least he wasn’t the only one.

There was a strange Jedi waiting for them, a species that Luke had never personally encountered. His pink skin was textured as though scarred, and most of his face was covered by a re-breather mask, his eyes covered by filtering lenses. He was dressed much like Anakin, in the darker version of traditional Jedi robes, with a pair of vambraces on his forearms. His arms were crossed over his chest as he waited, and his hand, where it rested on his elbow, had four clawed fingers.

He also wasn’t standing alone; a company of clones, most standing with their helmets off and tucked against their sides. Their armor, like others, was decorated with stripes and patterns of either blue or grey.

Despite the covering on his eyes, Luke knew the Jedi was watching him with interest.

“Master Plo!” Ahsoka said warmly, visibly restraining herself from hugging him. “I hope your travel was uneventful.”

“It was indeed, Little ‘Soka,” Master Plo said with obvious affection, reaching out with his clawed hand and placing it on her shoulder. “I trust yours was, as well?” Luke sensed the Jedi’s surprise as Ventress exited the ship behind him. “Somehow?”

Ventress narrowed her eyes, a mean smirk on her face, but she remained silent. “Piece of cake,” Ahsoka said, untroubled.

Master Plo looked at her fondly, and turned to Leia with a nod of his head. “Lady Leia, I am please to see you again, as well, and in better circumstances.”

Surprised, Luke turned to look at Leia, who was nodding back. “Master Jedi,” Leia said. “And it’s just Leia.” Again, that sense that Master Plo was beaming. “This is my brother, Luke. Luke,” she glanced at him. “This is Jedi Master Plo Koon. He was with Obi-Wan when they got me out of that cell.” Leia turned back to him. “I was surprised not to see you on the transport.”

“I flew out with my men,” Master Plo said. “In attempting to end the drone attacks, I found myself up in one of the spires when I saw your transport take off. Wolffe was kind enough to pick me up.”

The clone next to him, wearing a rather fearsome scowl made all the more so by the white of his scarred eye, just grunted. The force of the recognition was disorienting; this was the same Wolffe Luke had met during the Rebellion. His hair was still black, and he hadn’t yet settled into the muscled bulk Luke remembered, but this was Wolffe all the same.

“Oops?” Ashoka said, weakly, and Master Plo squeezed her shoulder, gently.

“Do not fret, little one. All is as the Force wills,” he said.

Ahsoka narrowed her eyes. “You’re going to hold this over Obi-Wan’s head forever, aren’t you.”

“Naturally,” Master Plo said, and Luke couldn’t help but crack a smile. He had heard so much about the Jedi during his years of research – they were cold, they were baby-snatchers, they were not of this plane – it was good to see them acting like people.

Then, Master Plo turned to Luke. “So you are the Jedi that has the Council in a tizzy,” he said said. “It is an honor to meet you at last.”

“Just wait,” Luke said, wry, and Plo laughed. 

“I shall look forward to it,” Plo said.

Luke turned, sensing Obi-Wan’s approach, and his former master began to speak as he neared. “I don’t think I can delay any further,” he said. “We need to leave, immediately. We were supposed to head directly to Coruscant, but circumstances...” he gestured vaguely and Luke nodded. He was very aware of the nature of “circumstances” — sometimes it felt like his entire life was simply scrambling to recover from unexpected “circumstances.” “Master Plo, would you please inform the Council of our departure and the events of today? The demise of Count Dooku is a major blow to the Separatist effort, and the Senate should be told immediately.”

“Agreed,” Plo said. “The Council can also then advise on what to do with the Sith artifacts Master Luke is carrying.”

Obi-Wan’s mind shuddered and he blinked at Plo, even as Luke protested that, “please, Luke is fine, really.” Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, who looked just as confused.

“What artifacts?” Obi-Wan asked, and Luke and Leia both turned to him.

“The things we took from Dooku’s workshop?” Leia asked, and Luke held up his robe, showing off the pouch that he still had crafted. How had Obi-Wan not noticed it before.

“I…don’t remember that,” Anakin said slowly, fear a subtle edge to his voice.

Obi-Wan face was impassive in a way that spoke to the depth of his concern. “Neither do I,” he said.

Ahsoka shook her head. “I never knew that you had them in the first place,” she began. “But I also don’t remember you carrying them in your cloak, Luke.”

“It’s a defense mechanism,” Ventress offered, as if bored, and Luke turned to face her. He could tell that she was far from bored, but he respected her reasons for the front all the same. If Ventress though it was a possible concern, he would listen. She had earned that much. “Luke carries Darth Zannah’s holocron, and if she doesn’t wish to be noticed, she won’t be.” 

Master Plo seemed to frown. “Darth Zannah’s holocron is safely locked in the restricted section of the Temple Library.” 

Ventress just raised an eyebrow, and Master Plo stood a little straighter. “I see. I am curious as to why she is being selective, but perhaps I am not meant to know.” He turned to Obi-Wan. “I will call the Council. Commander Rex?” He asked, and to Luke’s surprise, Rex stepped forward. “How goes the shuttle preparation?” 

“All set, sir. Just awaiting passengers,” Rex said. His voice was higher that Luke was used to, but it was familiar all the same — even the air of polite suspicion that was directed his way. 

Luke shared a look with Leia; Rex was impossibly young, and to see evidence of how quickly he aged was disquieting. 

“Excellent. We should move quickly. Please have your men escort Ventress—”

“I’m not leaving them,” Ventress said, and everyone turned to look at her. “You can try to lock me up, Kenobi, but it’s just going to make a lot of your troopers dead. I stay with Luke and Leia. I trust _them_.” Obi-Wan, for his part, looked honestly hurt by that.

“What,” Anakin said flatly into the silence that followed. As if it was some sort of signal, everyone began to speak at once. 

“My dear, that’s not entirely up to you.”

“She’s a _prisoner_ , therefore she’s going to _prison._ ”

“Sir, there are so many regs against this.”

Luke simply looked at Ventress, opening himself to the Force to see the eddies as it swirled around her. There was pain, yes — scars from a past that would test even the hardest of souls. Stolen and abandoned, left half-trained twice over, left for dead — and then Dooku, with his offer of power. Luke knew the temptation of power to the powerless, knew the way it could make even the smartest of people willfully ignore the chains and shackles that came with it until it was too late and their line was played out with the water they so desperately needed just out of reach. 

But more, Luke saw the way the doubt he had planted had broken through and allowed Ventress to see herself and her situation with clear eyes, possibly for the first time. With that newfound clarity, Ventress had turned to Leia and saved his life. 

Behind him, they were still arguing, and Luke didn’t need to wonder why they couldn’t hear the way the Force was chiming around them, lending its own voice. 

When did the Jedi stop listening to the Force? 

There was a hand on his elbow, warm and familiar, and Luke didn’t need to look at Leia to know she approved of what he was about to do. 

“She should come with us,” Luke said, and once again the room fell silent. “I don’t know yet what role she’ll play, but the Force is being pretty clear.” He paused. “For once.” 

Obi-Wan crossed his arm, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he said at last, though his voice was strained. “Rex, is the shuttle equipped for our change in passengers?” 

“There’s no brig,” Rex said, tone sharp.

Obi-Wan sighed, and looked up to contemplate Ventress. He was still frowning, but no longer in displeasure. “I don’t honestly think we’ll need one,” he said.

* * *

Mace Windu woke that morning to the largest shatterpoint fracture to which he’d ever borne witness. He knew he screamed, only because after when he lay shaking in his bed, drenched with cold sweat, his throat felt raw. 

The images he had seen were disjointed, and many were of people and places he did not recognize. He saw a desert with binary suns, a Sith Lord in black whose very breath echoed ominously through the hallway as he cut down combatants with his red lightsaber, a young Jedi throwing aside his lightsaber in defiance. Too, he saw images of those familiar to him: countless roopers in white on the march, Yoda in a swamp looking worn and immeasurably sad, Alderaan reduced to space dust, and Obi-Wan Kenobi struck down by the Sith. 

Over them all, a faceless voice with a terrible laugh: 

_“Wipe them out. All of them.”_

Mace rubbed a rough hand over his face and dragged himself from his bed, heading for his ‘fresher shower to wash the fear of those images away. It did not surprise him to find Yoda sitting at his low table when he returned, tea already brewed and steaming. 

Without speaking, Mace sat next to Yoda, folding his legs in on himself to fit on the cushion, and drained his cup. 

Yoda hummed. “To be savored, this tea is.” 

“Disturbed, my nights are,” Mace returned, refilling his cup to sip more slowly. “The tea will understand.” 

“Hmm.” Yoda gestured with his claws, and a pair of sugar cubes rolled out of their container, bouncing across the table to land in his tea with a light splash. It was a frivolous motion, one most of the Order declared to be a misuse of the Force, but Yoda had never been one to let others opinions of the Force dictate his actions. 

Or perhaps it was a side effect of having tea primarily with younglings. 

Mace sighed. “It’s been years since I’ve had a reaction this strong,” he said. “I had forgotten how intense they could be.” 

“Perhaps, stopped listening, you did,” Yoda said, a gentle and understanding tease in his voice. “Louder, must the Force become.” 

Mace shook his head slowly. “How long have we been deaf to the Force, that it had to be so very loud?” Mace asked. _How long was I?_ His entire life, Mace had been privy to the mutterings of the Force, nearly driven mad as a child by never-ending shatterpoints. He had been forced to learn how to tune them out, to shut his senses or be lost. 

Not for the first time, Mace wondered what had happened when he was so young that had made the Force fracture as it had. He felt a tinge of regret that he had not been older, more trained so that he could understand the message the Force had seemed so desperate to tell him. 

Had he grown too used to turning off his senses? Had he blinded himself too much? What warnings had he missed in his complacency? What tragedy could have been avoided? 

He returned to from his musings at the sound of Yoda’s teacup softly clinking against the table. “What did you see?” Yoda asked, voice low with uncustomary control of grammar. 

Mace looked down at his cup, seeing his reflection in the surface of his tea. He closed his eyes before the images from his vision could play before him. “I saw the end of the Jedi,” he said. 

Between them, silence stretched brittle like strands of sugar glass. Echoing in his ears was background hum of the Temple, the ripples of Presence from so many Force sensitives like an audible mechanical whisper, and even this appeared to pause on — not a shatterpoint, but a _moment_ all the same. 

“Did you see it?” Mace asked, but Yoda shook his head slowly, “no.”

“Sense the disturbance, I did,” Yoda said, his voice quiet. “But see — cloudy, still, the future is, and yet changed, something has.” 

“But what?” Mace asked, and the answer came to him like he had always known. “Skywalker,” he said with a groan. “Somehow, this has something to do with Skywalker.” 

Yoda laughed, his delighted dry cackle grating against Mace’s frustration. “Yes, Skywalker, it is. Always Skywalker.” He narrowed his eyes, playfully. “When not Kenobi.” 

Mace huffed a laugh, despite himself. “It’s your Legacy.” 

“Hmm” Yoda hummed. “Proud, they have made me.” He sipped his tea, and the muttered, as if to himself. “Change, they bring, yes. Much change. _Necessary_ change, I think, yes.” 

_Necessary change?_ Mace thought about it, about the possible future he had seen, and nodded shallowly. Yes. They would all have to change, if they were to survive. 

For a moment, Mace would have sworn that he heard Qui-Gon laughing at him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last! This chapter is for loverofcake!

The shuttle’s departure was only slightly delayed, as preparations for the additional personnel — and the items they carried — would only take the better part of the next hour. Obi-Wan had spent most of that time preoccupied by paperwork that had been delayed by the rescue attempt. 

_Force bless the clones’ efficiency,_ Obi-Wan thought, as they finally managed to board the shuttle. Quarters would be tight, but they would manage not to step on each other’s toes as long as they managed to be civil — even Ventress, Force help him. 

Once underway, Leia had taken one look at their accommodations and pushed her brother towards the small ‘fresher. Luke had laughed, a low chuckle that spoke of long familiarity and relief both — this was not new behavior for either of them, and Luke _really_ wanted a shower. 

Carefully, Luke put his bundle on the desk, his cloak wrapped tightly, and disappeared into the ‘fresher. Unlike older ships, this shuttle was a long ranger, had personal laundry ports as part of the ‘fresher unit. It was a welcome luxury, and would be quite beneficial with so many travelers. 

Leia sank onto the common room couch to sit and wait, and Ahsoka sat next to her with a surprisingly sly smile for the normally effusive togruta — one that Leia returned, warmly if tiredly. 

That left the desk or standing, and Obi-Wan was in no hurry to sit so close to such disquieting sith artefacts. 

(Truth was, going to them was all _too_ appealing. Now that he was aware of their existence once more, he could feel them calling to him, whispering to the pieces of himself that he kept long suppressed, promising a swift and decisive end to the war if he only gave in). 

It seemed they weren’t hiding any longer. 

Anakin, after leaving Artoo as copilot, had chosen a similar path, practically lurking in the doorway, about as far away from the objects as possible. Through their bond, Obi-Wan could feel Anakin’s conflict — to get away warring with the desire to whisk his children away — to keep them all safe, by force if necessary. 

Obi-Wan frowned, looking at Anakin in concern, but Anakin wouldn’t look at him. 

“Pathetic,” Ventress muttered and sank down into the seat at the desk, arms and legs crossed, smirking at Obi-Wan in taunting triumph. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow in return. 

“Maybe I should have gone first, Leia said into the quiet. “Farmboy always takes the longest showers.” 

Ahsoka covered her smile with her hand, though Leia made no such attempt when Luke’s mental voice drifted through their minds.

_’I can hear you, you know,’_

“You were meant to,” Leia said aloud. “We have a limited time and I want to shower, too.” 

_’You should have thought of that before,’_ Luke sent, smug. And then, in an uncanny impression of Master Yoda, said: _’Patience, yes. A virtue, it is, when a queue forms.’_

Anakin blinked, wide-eyed. “That’s just creepy,” he said, making Ahsoka giggle louder. 

Still, not long after, Luke exited the ‘fresher, clean and still adjusting the fit of his robes. They were similar to Jedi robes, now that Obi-Wan could see them clean and unencumbered by his cloak, but there was something different about it, something beyond personal style. 

His hair fell to his neck, flipping back in gentle waves. It wasn’t quite his father’s curls — or his mother’s for that matter — but it was possible it could be, if longer. He had taken the opportunity to shave and had cleaned up the beard he wore. It had cut off most of the grey, and Obi-Wan realized that Luke wasn’t quite as old as he first appeared. 

Leia stood with all the dignity of royalty, and swept past her brother to take her turn, rolling her eyes when Luke half-bowed, presenting her to the ‘fresher. Her hand shot out, striking his shoulder in a fist, Luke’s smile held, despite the way Obi-Wan saw him flinch. 

“Ow,” Luke protested, grinning when Leia’s only response was a rude gesture before the ‘fresher door closed on her. 

With a sigh that spoke more of age than anything else, Luke sat at the desk, across from Ventress. Leaning his elbow on the table, he rubbed his mouth with his metal hand and then leaned on it for support, gazing calmly at Ventress. 

Ventress scowled. “Don’t look at me,” she sneered, but Luke merely smiled at her, and turned to face the others. 

“How long until we reach Coruscant?” Luke asked. 

“Only a few more hours,” Obi-Wan said. “Possibly less, the way Anakin flies.” 

The yawn came upon him suddenly, leaving Obi-Wan no choice but to hide it behind his hand.   
He blinked, startled, feeling Anakin’s concerned gaze on the side of his head, and then decided that a few moment’s rest probably wouldn’t hurt. With all the dignity he could muster, he sat on the couch, next to Ahsoka, who leaned into his side, as if seeking comfort. 

...Or pinning him in place. Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at Anakin, who looked far too innocent as he sat on Obi-Wan’s other side, insuring that Obi-Wan couldn’t move. This time, Obi-Wan caught the yawn before it happened, and was able to subvert the urge, breathing deeply. 

“Oh, spare me,” Ventress muttered, and Obi-Wan looked up to see Luke absently poking at the Sith Holocron even as he patted her arm, seemingly unbothered when she shrugged him off, standing to stalk into another room. Obi-Wan thoughts about following, but...there was nowhere for her to go, and Artoo would alert them if she went into the cabin. 

Perhaps it was alright for him to... rest...

* * *

Anakin looked down at Obi-Wan’s sleeping face, then up to Ahsoka. “I can’t believe that worked,” he said. 

“He must have been more tired than we thought,” Ahsoka said, her voice soft. 

Anakin frowned. It was worrying that Obi-Wan seemed better and better able to hide how worn down he was becoming, and Anakin honestly couldn’t say if it was because he was faking it better or if everyone was so worn down that his exhaustion was just less obvious by comparison. 

“Is he alright?” Luke asked, and Anakin looked at his son. He was frowning, and though his beard hid the shape of his mouth, Anakin could see Padme’s heart playing out on his face. 

When Anakin didn’t speak for a moment, Luke looked at him. “Father?” 

Anakin closed his eyes for a moment; the name still made his head spin, and it was Ahsoka who said what he was thinking. “Weird,” she whispered, and Anakin had to laugh. It took him a moment to realize that Luke was laughing as well. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Luke said. “I’m older than you are — hell, I’m older than you were _then_. It’s got to be confusing.” There was no judgement in his tone, no censure like he always expected to hear from the council. To have a Master, even his son, just _admit_ confusion....

“It is,” Anakin said, and then sighed. “And it isn’t.” Both were true, of course — Anakin had always contained a contradiction. He’d been used to it on Tatooine, being a person and being property all at once. He’d maintained it at the Temple, feeling emotion and peace, passion and serenity. He’d let it subsume him: Jedi and Husband. And on Mortis...

Well. 

But Luke was nodding, as if he knew _exactly_ what Anakin was talking about, and Anakin wondered for the first time, with a dawning dread, just how close Luke himself had come to the dark side. 

Did he have a Tusken Village in his past? 

With Ahsoka there, he couldn’t just ask, and Luke’s expression, as open as it was, revealed nothing. 

“We’ve had a longer time to get used to the idea,” Luke said, and Anakin was imagining the sorrow in his voice, wasn’t he? The darkened shadows on Luke’s face were just paranoia, right? Luke’s eyes crinkled. “You will too, in time.” 

Anakin nodded, feeling cold as the desert night. You could get used to anything in time.

* * *

Asajj stopped just outside the room, unsure of which way to go. There was no way they would let her into the cockpit without a _nanny_ , and they would never leave her alone again if she went to hide in the engine room. She needed _space_ , a moment alone to center herself and come to terms with the way her circumstances had changed wildly. Again. 

From the room behind her, she heard Skywalker speak, and she sneered, discomfort roiling in her gut. Her feet moved her forward, away from where the Force burned the brightest. 

Skywalker was difficult enough to be around, his fire banked by Jedi discipline, but his children seemed disinclined to temper their presence. It was amusing, at first, to see the ever-serene Kenobi flinch away from them, but it was hell on Asajj’s shields. 

Her feet took her to the galley, and she stopped just outside the bright lights of the room. It was a typical ship’s galley: conservator and water supply line, a combined miniature thermal pad and nanowave stove, and automatic brewer. Everything was scrubbed clean, as if never used, and the sterility made Asajj twitch. 

Their trip was only a few hours long. Nobody would mind if she brewed herself come caff. 

She set about prepping the machine: it was a pod-type, and there was a collection of pods in the drawer beneath the machine. None of them were a brand she was familiar with, but at least a few were labeled “high caff”. Those would do. It was only a moment’s work to fill the reservoir with water, place the pod in the correct slot, and press the correct button. There was even cream in the conservator and sugar in the cabinet. 

Mug in hand, Asajj sat at the galley table, slowly sipping the hot caff. It was not the best caff she ever had — Dooku was a man who demanded quality in all things, and though he did not drink caff himself, had his kitchens installed with the highest quality caff brewers. 

Somehow, Asajj didn’t think either of the Jedi had “high quality caff” as a priority. In her experience, soldiers tended to run on whatever they could get their hands on, quickly becoming accustomed to poorer quality — and therefore cheaper to mass produce — food stuffs. 

And slaves had no choice. 

She snarled to herself, her grip on her mug tightening painfully. No, she wasn’t ready to think about that, yet. 

But it did bring her to the topic of the *other* Jedi - the one Dooku had been convinced was Palpatine’s downfall, and the one that had proved to be his own. Leia was a soldier — a leader, but a soldier. Judging by her jewelry, however, one used to finer things. She, perhaps, would share Asajj’s taste in caff. 

Asajj shook her head. Why was she focusing on their *stimulant habits* of all things. 

_Because it’s easier than facing the truth,_ said a voice in the back of her head, and Asajj grit her teeth. It was the same voice that told her to listen to Luke, to approach Leia. It had yet to steer her wrong, though it wasn’t particularly gentle about it. _Cowardice does not become you, Ventress. Do not give in to it._

“I am not a coward,” she grit out, her own voice shocking in the stillness of the galley. She looked around, but her words had raised no alarms. She sipped her caff. 

Fine. She would prove that she was no coward. 

Asajj had been a slave, stolen from her home when she had been a child. She had thought she had gained freedom and purpose under the tutelage of Knight Ky Narec, but he had bound her into a chains of her own making, willingly subservient to and Order she never saw. She thought, once again, that she had been offered freedom when she had been discovered by Dooku, but it took so very little for Luke to open her eyes to Dooku’s falsehoods. 

Had Asajj ever truly been free? She had always thought her freedom had been taken from her as a child, but what if freedom, true freedom, had to be earned? What would it even look like? Luke spoke of freedom, but even he was chained to the tenets of the Order. 

Wasn’t he? 

The thought made Asajj pause, her mug halfway to her face. Of all the Jedi she had known, Luke was the first who never quoted dogma, who was silent when face-to-face with the tenets of the Sith. And what of Leia, who was clearly a Force user, for all that she claimed not to be a Jedi. 

Asajj used to dream of returning home to her sisters and Mother, themes of rescue shifting to prodigal welcome as the years passed — and, if she made it out of this alive, she probably could. 

_But would you still want to?_

Raising her mug, she realized her caff had gone cold. She stood to make herself a fresh cup.

* * *

Leia stepped from the ‘fresher, feeling much more human. Sonic showers weren’t her favorite, having grown up on a planet where water was plentiful, and there was nothing quite like a good, long soak in a tub filled with hot water, sweetly oiled. 

That and it was nearly impossible for sonic showers to treat her hair with any kindness. She had kept her hair braided atop her head, as that would at least keep it out of the way and cleaner until she had the time and resources to wash it properly. 

At least they weren’t heading to an ice world like Hoth. None of the humans had been able to bathe properly in the extreme temperatures, and Leia had gone weeks with her hair in the same braid. She was lucky her hair hadn’t been permanently damaged. 

Still, the experience had given her both a deeper appreciation for proper hair care, and a new threshold of endurance. Dressing quickly, she stood in front of the small mirror to assess the damage. It would hold, and after her practiced fingers tucked the worst of the strands back into place, it looked relatively normal. 

At least something did. 

Leia sighed, watching her expression play out in the mirror before tucking it away once more. It had been mere days since her world had fallen apart, but there was no time for sorrow — not yet. There would be time for grief and rage and sorrow later. 

Once more in control, Leia left the ‘fresher and returned to her brother. 

Luke was sitting at the table, studying the items on the table in front of him, though he was careful still not to touch them with his bare skin. On the couch, it seemed that Ahsoka and Anakin had trapped Obi-Wan — who was fast asleep. Leia raised an eyebrow, and looked to Ahsoka, who just shrugged with one shoulder. 

“We have time, if you want to rest,” Anakin said, voice low. Obi-Wan didn’t so much as twitch, but Leia found herself shaking her head. She had rested in her cell, and while she had developed a wartime ability to sleep whenever she could, events were still too close together for her to trust herself sleeping. She shook her head, lips pressed together.

Instead, she sat across from Luke and looked down at the objects before him. “I thought you were going to put these in the lockbox.” 

“I will,” Luke said, absently, and Leia wondered. 

In the aftermath of Endor, Leia had been too busy running from the truth of her parentage to listen to Luke when he tried to talk to her about the Force — and she didn’t get less busy as the the war gave way to the building of a new Republic. She wasn’t lying when she said she wasn’t a Jedi. 

...but Luke had eventually cornered her, teaching her to center her focus, to reach out with her feelings and sense the Force around and inside of her. She could shield her mind, speak to Luke across great distances, and even “lift rocks.” Luke had even shown her how to build a lightsaber, but there was nothing more conspicuous than a lightsaber after two decades of Imperial rule. It had stayed with him when he left to build his training grounds, and for all that Leia knew, it remained there. 

Leia looked up at her brother, the familiar crease between his brows, the slight frown hidden by his beard. _”Talk me through it?”_ she sent along with a tendril of mixed curiosity and concern. 

Luke’s mouth twitched, like he almost smiled. _”Alright,”_ he said then he did.

Leia almost wished he hadn’t, but oh, it made so much more _sense_.

* * *

Later, after Obi-Wan had woken, breaking Luke’s concentration, and they had gone different ways - Luke first to the lockbox, and some to the ‘fresher, other to the galley where they found Asajj on what very well could have been her fourth cup of caff, Luke found Leia at the viewport, watching their approach. She stood as she always had, arms crossed and hip cocked — it was her thinking pose, and Luke’s mind’s eye flashed through the years of watching her stand in that very pose, her head at that angle. 

There were little differences. Her crown braid changed after she married Han, and again after Ben was born. She wore more, and larger, jewelry — cultural relics of Alderaan that was, gifted to her over the years by Alderaanian ex-pats who wished to show solidarity in what she represented: Alderaan, unbowed. 

Leia always was good at standing tall. 

Luke came to a top next to her, looking out at Coruscant below. 

“I expected it to look different,” Leia said, her mouth twisted into something wry. “Papa often told me that Coruscant changed little during the rise of the Empire, that the occupation was in the details. I know how little it changed when the New Republic began, before it moved to a new system. Too many ghosts,” she said, her voice dropping into familiar sarcasm. Luke huffed a soft laugh. The ghosts at Ahch To were part of its appeal, but then not everybody saw the galaxy as the Jedi had. 

“I still expected it to be different.” 

_The galaxy doesn’t change,_ Luke thought. And, in his experience, that was true. The government bickered and the people in power thought they were making a real difference, while on the ground, the common people lived as they always had: bringing in the same harvest, fighting off the same enemies and threats to their livelihood, absorbed by the same local life as the generations before them. It was clearest to see on the Rim, but even on the lower levels of Coruscant, away from those who made the laws, life continued unchanged. 

But Leia knew all that. It had been one of their biggest stumbling blocks in the rebellion: people only fought for change when their circumstances changed for the worse. Leia didn’t need Luke to remind her. 

“It feels different,” Luke offered instead, wrapping his arm around her shoulder until she leaned into his side. “The Jedi Temple is like a beacon.” 

“It’s still dark, though, underneath,” Leia said, softly. “It still feels like...him.” 

Luke nodded; Palpatine had been seated on Coruscant for nearly two decades by this point, and his touch was on everything, coated like oil...but it wasn’t the only source of Darkness on the planet. Luke wouldn’t have recognized it before, when the Alliance had come to Coruscant at last, and Luke had lead a team through the lower halls of the Imperial Palace: what had once been the Jedi Temple. Palpatine’s reek had been thick, and he had many of his senses turned down or even off, and he had _missed_ it, the subtle difference in shade. 

There was a Darkness underneath the Jedi Temple, a shadow that cast their light into stark relief, and Luke was caught up in a sudden flash of vision: the pyramid he had climbed, and the well that had nearly swallowed him. Behind it all, a tree with massive roots and branches that reached up so high that they began to curl downward once more. 

In his pack, the Holocron of Darth Zannah seemed to humm, as if pleased. 

“It’s subtle,” Luke said, still half-dazed, and shook his head. “He’s still in hiding.” 

“Not for long,” Leia said, and Luke could feel the warning in her words echo through the bond between them, full of the thoughts and theories they now shared. “We don’t have much time.” 

Luke chuckled. “I somehow doubt ‘time’ will be our biggest problem.”

* * *

Yoda had been dreaming. 

In nearly 900 years, this was not hardly the first time Yoda’s life had been disturbed by dreams that were more than dreams. In sleep, his mind buyed on the currents of the Force, he had dreamed the past that was, the present that is, and the future that had yet to be. He had dreamed of blessings and warnings, guidance and distraction. 

Yoda no longer put much stock in dreaming. 

This time, however, his dreams would not leave him. There was something coming, a change on a scale he had not seen in his lifetime. The Force spoke to him when he slept at night, and sang for him during his waking hours. It invaded his lessons with the younglings, his meidations, his meeting with his men. 

Change was coming, and, Yoda conceded as Mace came to a stop next to him on the temple’s landing platform, it was _on that ship_. 

Mace was a pillar next to Yoda, as he had been these last several years, a focus point in what would otherwise could be a swirling torrent. Truly, the Temple and the Order worked to calm the chaos of the planet on which they lived, but even within the calm of the Temple, Mace was as a tree, swaying yet unbroken and firmly rooted. 

Yoda wondered if those roots would help him, now. 

The ship landed with a gentle firing of thrusters, proof yet again of Anakin Skywalker’s skill with machines that flew, and the speed at which the hatch opened spoke of nothing more than the soundings of fate. 

Obi-Wan exited the ship first, cloakless as he often was when on Military transport, leading two beings whose presence in the Force nearly eclipsed that of Anakin and young Ahsoka as they escorted Asajj Ventress from the hold of the ship. Her presence wasn’t a surprise, that much had been in Obi-Wan’s report, but there was something in the way the Force swirled around her that spoke of _potential_. Ventress was on the cusp of something greater than herself, and Yoda would wait and see what it could be. 

Mace swore gently as they approached, his voice not loud enough to carry across the winds of the platform, but Yoda’s sensitive ears picked it up anyway. There was no doubt the two before them were the source of Mace’s shatterpoints, or the confounding knotwork of Yoda’s dreams. 

“Masters,” Obi-Wan greeted, bowing briefly in his habitual precision. “I — “ to Yoda’s surprise, Obi-Wan trailed off, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. “Perhaps not outside?” 

“I find that I’m not entirely comfortable bringing ...” Mace began, speaking of his desire not to being a potential threat into the Temple, where the young and grounded were kept safe, but Yoda tuned him out as he stepped forward. These strangers were dangerous, yes, but in the way that fire was dangerous only when treated poorly. 

They were human, the twin suns that filled his vision, and as he approached, one — the male in the cloak — knelt before him. It was a familiar gesture, performed with ease despite the age and injury in his knees, though Yoda was sure this was the first time this had ever happened. 

The man reached up with his hands — one flesh, one bare metal, and pulled back his hood to reveal a bearded and weathered face, with blue eyes the color of a Guardian’s saber. He smiled, the eddies of the Force swirling between them, and said, “Greetings, Master Yoda.” 

And Yoda looked up into this face that he knew so well, and yet did not know, and said to the last of his Padawans: “Greetings, young Skywalker.”


End file.
